Lost & Found
by LittleSixx
Summary: Tony Stark will lose his seat on the board of Stark Industries unless he gets his life in order, so Pepper finds him a fake boyfriend. Enter: Steve Rogers.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Inspired by The Trouble with Faking It by nowforruin._

_A/N: This fic is not beta-read, so I apologize for any mistakes. This is a no-powers AU, in which Steve was a soldier and Tony is himself minus Iron Man. (I know, I know.)_

* * *

Steve kept time by the noises in his apartment.

He laid down to bed at eleven, but almost never went to sleep when his head hit the pillow. Someone upstairs always flushed the toilet between eleven-thirty and midnight so the pipes creaked like clockwork. The ice maker went off around one, and it always dumped six cubes. Steve never figured out why, as it had been set to "off" since he moved in. His neighbor's front door always opened then shut at three. The microwave went off at four, and Steve was still staring at the ceiling.

Sleep came here and there, never pleasant. Regardless of when he went to sleep, he always woke with the microwave beep. He spent the next hour staring up at the ceiling above his bed, dreading the day ahead. His days were always the same.

He got out of bed at five every morning without fail. He pulled on sweatpants and a thermal shirt since April mornings in New York stung with remnants of the winter chill. Steve liked the cold wind against his face, gradually waking up with the steady pat-pat-pat of his sneakers hitting the sidewalk. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot; the repetition kept him sane, a twelve-year habit he couldn't shake.

Eight miles later, Steve was back in his apartment. He showered and was ready for the day by seven.

Ready for what?

Steve wasn't quite sure. He never expected to retire at thirty and New York didn't feel like the city he left thirteen years earlier. It had changed, certainly, but Steve changed, too. He just prayed that he would find a place in it soon.

He walked three blocks north and one block west before ordering a cup of coffee at his favorite cafe. The barista called it coffee, anyway, but it was mostly chocolate and whipped cream. Steve sipped his frappuccino with a smile on his face, determined to make this a good day. It had to happen eventually, didn't it? At least the sun was shining and warm enough not to need a coat, but it wasn't the sweltering summer heat June and July would bring. Steve leaned back in his chair, savoring the morning chaos from his table.

He watched as businesspeople ran full-tilt toward the subway or their rideshare. Tourists walked by at a slower pace, gawking up at the massive buildings. New York City seemed to have one of just about everybody; except the one person he missed the most. Everything in Brooklyn had Bucky written on it. Steve kept watch while Bucky puked over there in those bushes. Bucky had pulled a guy off of Steve in that alley after a particularly nasty fight. They'd even stopped in this cafe every week when they were kids because it had a jukebox. Two dollars got them ten songs.

When Steve got back, the jukebox was gone.

He was so lost in his memories he nearly jumped out of his chair when a woman slid into the seat across from him.

"Have you ever considered acting?"

Steve laughed. He took another sip of his latte and said,

"No, ma'am."

"Excellent."

Steve's eyebrows jumped up to his hairline. This woman was pretty; red hair, thin, wearing a suit that probably cost more than Steve's monthly rent. She looked like the sort of person who always had somewhere to be. Her fingers moved across her phone screen beneath the table but she never took her eyes off him.

"I am looking to fill a unique role, not for someone who seeks the spotlight or fame. Trust me, you'll get enough of that." The woman smiled and offered her free hand. "Pepper Potts."

Steve reached across the table and said, perfectly neutral, "Nice to meet you."

Miss Potts dropped his hand and returned her fingers to their tapdance across her phone.

"Are you looking for a job, Mr. Rogers?"

Steve's bullshit detectors were on high alert.

"How do you know who I am?"

"I've been researching people who might suit the position. You are my top choice." She glanced down at her phone before looking up again. "Apologies, we need to continue this conversation later today. The job offer is six-figures, health and dental, frequent travel ..."

"I like Brooklyn just fine, Miss Potts."

She smiled at him and sighed, "God, you are perfect for this." She slid a business card across the table. "If you're interested, come to my office at noon. I never get a lunch break anyway, might as well schedule the inevitable interruption myself."

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I don't even know what you're offering or how you know who I am, so forgive my skepticism but what the hell is going on?"

She leaned across the table and said, "There are too many ears here for us to have this conversation. You need money and a purpose, and I have both those things to give. Think about it, then come see me."

She was up and fading into the passersby before Steve could respond.

He whispered to himself, "What the fuck ...?" Then sipped some more of his latte. As he slurped air at the bottom of the plastic cup, he glanced down at the business card on the table. It was vague, purposefully so. It had her name, Pepper Potts, and the address 200 Park Avenue. Midtown? What a swanky business she must run.

Steve's instinct was to toss the card in the garbage. She knew too much about him and someone with the resources to know that much knew more than they let on. Those people don't give up easily. But he also didn't have anything else to do. Steve picked up the card and flipped it over to reveal a plain silver background.

It couldn't hurt to check it out, right?

They wouldn't kidnap him during lunch.

Right?

**.oOo.**

Steve looked down at the business card between his fingers, then back up at the skyscraper in front of him.

Stark Tower.

He had a meeting with someone in Stark Tower. He'd seen that name printed on weapons he fired, and even on the weapons fired back at him. Steve looked down at his brown leather jacket and jeans, wondering whether he should've changed. He should have at least Googled the damn address before showing up. Things had started slipping through the cracks, as of late.

Steve took a deep breath then pushed the door open.

If the street outside was busy, the Stark Tower lobby was chaos. Steve walked in and guessed the ratio of briefcases to people was a solid 2:1. There were more security cameras than windows and only four people manned the reception desk. Steve shuffled his way through without much hassle and stepped into the shortest line at the desk. Once he reached the receptionist he said,

"Good morning, ma'am. I have an appointment with Pepper Potts."

She scanned him up-and-down then scoffed.

"Not likely."

Steve clenched his teeth together, but forced himself to be calm. This woman probably had to deal with the worst of the worst of Manhattan businessmen every day, so she deserved some kindness.

"I have an appointment with Miss Potts at noon. My name is Steve Rogers and she gave me this card."

The receptionist rolled her eyes and tapped her fingers on the keyboard. She glanced at the card then back to what Steve assumed was Miss Potts's schedule. With one eyebrow raised, she said,

"Apologies, Mr. Rogers. Head to the elevator over there and press the top button."

His bullshit detector blared inside his head. There was something Steve didn't know, and before retiring he hated not knowing. But the thrill of uncertainty juxtaposed against the monotony of the past few months had Steve walking into the elevator. It seemed rather out of the way, across the room from the others. It opened of its own accord, and when he stepped inside the topmost button was already illuminated. He waited patiently as AC/DC played in the background, The doors finally parted and Miss Potts was standing there with a tablet nestled in the crook of her elbow.

"Welcome to the neighborhood, Mr. Rogers."

Steve bit back his instinctive, "Never heard that one before." His ma said sarcasm never made a good first impression. It seemed Miss Potts did not require an answer.

"Follow me."

And he did, walked down the hall and into her massive office. His apartment could have fit in there two times over. There was a large couch facing the wall on his left, but Miss Potts beckoned him over to the conference table on the right. There was a glass table opposite the door, with a chair and floor-to-ceiling glass windows behind it. The Manhattan skyline was there to be viewed in all its glory and it took Steve's breath away. No matter how many painful memories it held, this city would always be home. Steve sat in the chair, spine straight, shifting so he could have a view of the door in his peripheral.

"Comfortable?"

"With due respect, Miss Potts, I would like to know what I am doing here."

She put the tablet down on the table and looked at Steve with solemn eyes.

"My boss has himself in a bit of a mess and I need a specific type of individual to help him clean it up. I have a plan, but I need someone capable of executing that strategy, accounting for potential scenarios, improvising when necessary, etc. That has led me to you."

She was sincere. Whatever else he didn't know, Steve could guarantee Pepper Potts was not a liar.

"Who is your boss, ma'am?" Steve asked. "And what sort of mess are we dealing with that would net me a hundred thousand dollars?"

"A hundred thousand, Pep?"

Steve jumped out of his chair and positioned himself in front of Pepper Potts. The voice had come from the couch. Steve watched as a man pushed himself back so his neck rested on the arm of the sofa. His hair was mussed with sleep and his voice was thick like he'd been drinking.

"Thought this fustercluck of a plan would cost me at least a million."

"Tony, please, I am trying to fix your problems and you are only making it difficult."

Steve's jaw dropped.

"Tony?" He turned to face Miss Potts and asked, "Your boss is Tony Stark?"

"The one and only!" the voice boomed from the couch.

Steve ignored him.

"What is going on?"

"Please, Mr. Rogers, sit down."

Steve obliged her, satisfied that Tony Stark posed no actual threat. He doubted Mr. Stark had control of more than two of his limbs at the moment. Then again, if the papers were to be believed, Tony Stark could build a weapon with one hand, a rusty nail, and a flashlight.

Steve repeated, "What the hell am I doing here?"

Miss Potts sighed and revealed, "Tony is about to lose his seat on the board."

"What?" Steve yelped. He swallowed thickly and admitted that was an awfully undignified sound. "How do you run Stark Industries without Tony Stark?"

"Thank you!" the voice chimed in again, muffled slightly by a cushion. "Finally, someone is making sense around here."

Pepper ignored him.

"Tony is a bit of a ..."

"Ladies' man?"

"Slut," Pepper said. "He's a drunken addict and he is a slut."

"I am right here!"

"Sorry, Steve, do you hear something?"

"Not a damn thing, Miss Potts."

"Good then. I knew I liked you." She smiled at him. "Tony is on a three-month probationary period with the board members. One bad cover of the Post can send stocks plummeting, so they want him to prove he can give the company some stability. That begins in his personal life, because apparently the board believes they have authority over what Tony does in those matters. I need someone who can present a great public image and also keep him in check."

"All due respect, ma'am, I don't want to be a babysitter."

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist-sitter, asshole!" the voice shouted back.

Again, they both ignored it.

"I don't want you to be a babysitter, Steve, I want you to be his boyfriend."

Steve blinked. He stared at Miss Potts, then blinked again. He turned around to see the top of Mr. Stark's head hanging just over the arm of the couch, like he slid down and saw no reason to push himself back up. He turned back to Miss Potts and said,

"No."

"But-"

"Why would you think to pick me for this?"

"I did a background check. You are young, but not so much younger than Tony that it's creepy. You are handsome and recently unemployed. Born and raised in Brooklyn, retired Army Captain, honorably discharged."

"I get the feeling your background check on me was a bit more thorough than that, Miss Potts."

She nodded.

"You help people, Steve. You save people."

"I did that in the Army," he said robotically. "It was my duty."

"We both know it was damn well more than that, but no need to dwell on it."

"I am not a prostitute, Miss Potts. I don't want to be involved in this sort of business."

"You don't have to sleep with him! Just make the world, especially the board, believe you're dating him. He will take you to lunch and you can take him to dinner. Spend the night at his penthouse here and go to a few galas with him. Stop him from throwing things at photographers and, most importantly, keep him out of any clubs or bars."

Steve frowned. This was a challenge he was not certain would suit him. Pepper, however, did not notice his hesitance.

"Should Tony meet that three-month checkpoint, it would be another nine months before he is finally taken off probation. This is a yearlong commitment and I was originally intending to give you $50,000 per month, totaling $600,000. However, if you would like me to increase that to a million, I would be willing to do so."

A million dollars.

He could be paid a million fucking dollars to date Tony Stark. Not even that, but a million dollars to pretend to date Tony Stark.

It made his stomach twist, the thought of lying like that. But then, who did he have in his life to lie to? His friends were either dead, overseas, or undercover. He was not familiar with Tony Stark's life, outside of the spare moment someone left the television on TMZ or Mr. Stark's face was plastered across a tabloid cover.

A man's poor personal decisions shouldn't impact the share he held in his own company. He wasn't hurting anyone; only himself. And Steve knew about self-sabotage better than most. He considered leaving. He knew he should walk away from this offer and never look back because that was the sensible thing to do. But Tony Stark needed someone, and Steve was so fucking bored.

Miss Potts pushed two pieces of paper across the table, each with the signature of one Anthony Stark down at the bottom.

"This is a contract for your services and a non-disclosure agreement."

Steve read over the documents and it seemed fairly simple. There was some tight legal language that insisted he keep Mr. Stark out of trouble and on the straight-and-narrow to the extent he could.

"It means you cannot tell anyone about this arrangement. Not a friend or even a family member."

"No friends or family here, ma'am, but I'm guessing you already knew that."

"Brains and beauty," Pepper quipped with a teasing smile. "You got lucky with this one, Tony."

Steve could do it, could do something to help get himself out of his shitty apartment and do some good with the money. Steve couldn't think of anything more interesting than the rumpled inventor halfway to suffocating himself on a couch cushion.

But was it right?

Bucky would say, "Hell no!" He had pulled Steve out of one too many risky adventures. Sam would say, "Do it if you want to, because why not? If you get free food out of it, what's the harm?" And Peggy would tell him to live his life to the fullest. Steve's ma always said he should do what he could to help people. Steve turned around to look at Tony Stark and saw a man who needed more help than he realized.

So Steve picked up the pen and signed.


	2. Chapter 2: The First Date

Miss Potts didn't ask many questions.

"I will arrange the first couple dates for you two, so you'll get to know each other in a private setting. Drop hints to the more reputable magazines. You don't have any social media, which explains why there won't be any pictures of the two of you together—"

Steve didn't bother to correct her.

"Nice one, Pep!" Mr. Stark called from the couch. "Wrangled me a soldier with no paper trail."

"It is impressive that you are able to hide so well, Steve. That will come in handy with the press. Eventually you will be asked to comment on your relationship and you'll be noncommittal. Say you're 'finally at a point where you're comfortable seeing someone,' you 'want them to respect your privacy,' and when they ask for a label you just smile and say he 'makes you happy.'"

Steve nodded.

"Being Tony's boyfriend will come with perks; the occasional gift, clothes for special events, that sort of thing. All of those will be yours to keep."

Another nod.

"At first, there will be a lot of uncomfortable questions. People will dig into your military record—"

"I won't answer questions about that," Steve snapped.

"—and won't find anything."

"Apparently you did."

"Captain Rogers," she said his name halfway through an exasperated sigh, "you will find there is very little that I don't know. When I don't know something I know where to find the answer. I am far better equipped than _Vanity Fair_ and controlling the flow of information is a significant part of my job. They will not find anything we don't want them to find."

"Then ..." Steve awkwardly cleared his throat. "How does this work? What do you need me to do?"

"For now? Go home."

What?

"You have me sign a year of my life over to you, then send me home?"

Miss Potts placed the two papers into a file folder then said, "Hardly the first time you've signed away years of your life, is it, Captain Rogers?"

"No, ma'am." He stood up to leave, but couldn't bring himself to fully turn toward the door. "I just try to do what's right, and I try to help people."

Pepper smiled softly and said, "Tony deserves to keep his company. He may not look like much right now, but—"

"I am RIGHT HERE!"

They both elected to ignore him.

"—he will meet you for dinner later, sober, to make a real first impression. There will be people there with cell phones, so photos will surface quickly and the circus will begin. But this way it will appear more authentic."

Taking instructions like a dancing monkey. Steve swallowed his pride; he assumed he had left that line of work. He turned around and looked at the top of Mr. Stark's head, hanging off the arm of the couch. That man was many things, but he sure as hell wouldn't be boring. Stepping toward the door, Steve asked,

"Where am I gonna meet him?"

Pepper waved him off and said, "I'll text you."

"How do you have my phone number?"

She smiled, and that was as much of an answer he would get.

**.oOo.**

Steve stared into his closet and wondered what, exactly, he was supposed to wear. His closet was about as tall as the refrigerator and half as wide. There were a few button-downs, Army t-shirts, dark-colored hoodies, and a few leather jackets he had collected over the years.

Bucky's denim jacket had been shoved over to the far left of the closet where Steve could barely see it. Best to keep it out of the way, otherwise he would fall down the rabbit hole of guilt and unable to even walk out the front door. Against his better judgement, Steve pulled the jacket out and ran his thumb across the shoulder seam. The rest of Bucky's things were delivered to his sister, but Steve got to keep this one piece of him. He'd had it for ages, since before they both enlisted. It was too big on him back then. There was a scarlet stain on the left cuff, a remnant of one of Bucky's barfights; they never figured out whether it was his or the other guy's. It took every ounce of willpower Steve had to hang it back inside the closet.

What was the proper attire for a first date? He hadn't dated in so long, and he showed up to his first date with Peggy in combat boots. What the hell was he thinking about, anyhow? There was no protocol for the first date with his billionaire boyfriend. Let alone his billionaire _pretend_ boyfriend.

Steve shrugged, grumbled "Fuck it," then pulled a grey t-shirt and black leather jacket from the closet. He figured it was best to show up as himself, because that was the only way this charade would work. Plus, Nat always said he was a terrible actor.

"Rogers, you couldn't even fake a sneeze."

Yep. Truth hurts. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and wondered what Pepper Potts had seen in him that made him right for this assignment. The answer was tension in his shoulders, eyes that never stayed put for too long, and fists that had broken many bones over the years. Miss Potts had seen a soldier with nothing to do, nothing to protect.

His phone buzzed with an alarm labeled, "GET ASS MOVING." Steve grabbed his wallet then burst out his door and down the stairs before he could give this shitshow any more thought. He walked to the Nostrand station and caught the A train down to Fulton where he transferred before popping out fifteen minutes later at Grand Central.

Steve used to hate this place. He was so small he'd get lost in a crowd and Bucky got worried sick, like a mom who lost her five-year-old at Coney Island. But now he could simply blend into the throngs of people; tourists, businessmen with more than one stick shoved up their ass, people heading off to visit family, people coming back from visiting family ... Steve didn't fit into any of those categories but it was nice to, for a moment, feel as though he could. He glanced at his watch to see he had fifteen minutes before his date, and it was only a five-minute walk away. He pulled out his phone to double-check the address.

Pepper had texted him the location of a diner a couple blocks from Stark Tower. He knew the address, but checked again just in case. The place was dingey as hell, but the food wasn't half-bad. When they got days off together, Steve and Bucky used to come to Midtown just to look at the people. Overseas it's easy to forget just how big this place really was, how noisy and cloistered and unbelievable. Midtown, especially, with its impossible traffic and people shouting because neither cab drivers nor pedestrians seemed to believe in crosswalks.

Even with his slow pace and intentionally missing both signals to cross the street—_twice_—Steve ended up outside the diner five minutes early. He pulled up short of the door because there were three people hovering outside, holding cameras with obnoxiously long lenses. Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over.

"Hiya."

"Hey there, big fella," the small one said. Midwestern.

Steve nodded to the cameras and asked, "Tourists?"

All three of them laughed and shook their heads.

"Nah, we're waiting for someone."

"Same, same," Steve agreed.

"You got a hot date, or something?"

Steve ran a hand through his hair and agreed, "Yeah, something like that."

"Well, watch out," one of them warned. "This guy who's comin' has stolen plenty of ladies away from their dates."

"Not waiting for a lady."

"This guy's an equal opportunity employer, my friend," another added.

They chatted for a few minutes about Midtown. Made fun of some of the people walking by, staring at their phones and yelling at their GPS. Something didn't sit right, though; his bullshit detector was on high alert.

Then Mr. Stark rounded the corner and took the air right outta Steve's lungs.

Everything happened so much quicker than it should have. Tony Stark looked nothing like the man whose head had lolled off the edge of the couch earlier that afternoon. This version of Tony was wearing a thick coat, too warm for the current weather but easy to hide in. He held himself differently than Steve thought he would, cautious and almost nervous. Then the people Steve had been chitchatting with turned their lenses in Stark's direction. Tony's mouth formed a thin line as the flashes went off in his face, the lights reflected in the dark lenses of his sunglasses. It was like they practiced this, solidifying into a three-headed monster shouting questions.

"Tony!"

"Tony, where's your date?!"

"Pancakes or milkshakes, Tony?"

"Are the rumors about your company true? Are you losing your seat?"

Mr. Stark was rooted to the spot. Didn't he deal with this sort of thing all the time? Shouldn't he be used to it by now? Then again, given the immediate shift from friendly randos to three-headed hydra, Steve supposed no one could ever get used to that. He watched as Tony pressed the toe of one shoe against the heel of another like he was about to pull his foot out.

He was gonna pull his foot out and throw his shoe at the cameras to break the lenses. Steve made a conscious shift from _nervous wreck_ to Captain Rogers, then placed himself between Tony and the cameras. He slipped his arm around Tony's shoulders and felt them shake. Whether with rage or because he was a bit out of his element, Steve didn't know. At the moment, it hardly mattered.

He steered them toward the diner door and asked, "Yeah, Tony, pancakes or a milkshake?" Steve looked back to see the photographers hadn't missed a beat. "This place has a great burger and fries ..."

He pulled the door open and motioned for Mr. Stark to walk through. He quickly looked up at Steve before walking into the restaurant. Steve followed him and was immediately enveloped by warm, heavy air. They were seated in the very back, the booth furthest away from the entrance, and they wordlessly agreed Steve would sit facing the door. Tony Stark did not bother to sit down, instead asking their waitress to point him toward the bathroom. She departed after taking their drink order.

"Be careful in there."

Tony shot him a disdainful glare, muted somewhat by his sunglasses.

"What, do you think I'll slip and fall into the toilet?"

"The ceiling slopes down over the sink. If you're not careful you'll hit your head."

"I'm shorter than you, Rogers, I'll manage."

Steve shrugged and Tony walked away. Tension came off him in waves and it was reassuring, not being the only one who hated this setup. He didn't bother picking up the menu because he hadn't been lying to Mr. Stark; the burger and fries was always good. He sat in the booth, alone, for ten minutes. Steve smiled at their waitress when she brought out the drinks: two waters and one chocolate milkshake.

Stark's frown had deepened when he finally made his way back up the stairs. He tossed his coat onto the bench, followed by his sunglasses. Steve never really looked at Tony Stark before. He wore jeans, a t-shirt with the logo of an 80s hair metal band, and a tailored black blazer. His hair was messy, like he'd spent more than a few minutes tugging on it in the bathroom. Steve smiled because he'd done the same thing not an hour earlier.

"You hit your head."

"No," Tony snapped.

Liar.

Stark's phone lit up with a text that Steve read upside-down. It was from Pepper.

_Remember, alcohol is not a food group._

Steve didn't press the matter as Tony landed on the bench seat across from him. Literally, Tony plopped so loudly Steve heard the smack of his ass against the bench. Mr. Stark spread out in the booth, pulling one leg up underneath him and leaning against the wall on his left. It made Steve feel rather rigid in comparison. Stark grabbed one of the straws from the holder and ripped the top part of the paper. Before Steve understood his intention, Stark had blown the paper across the table so it hit Steve in the forehead.

"Are you expecting me to salute, soldier?"

Steve shook his head and asked, "What?"

Stark waved his hand up and down to indicate Steve's general Steve-ness.

"Do you always sit like you haven't bent over in years?"

"I assure you, Mr. Stark, I am perfectly capable of bending when the situation requires it."

One corner of Stark's mouth quirked up into a smile, like Steve had just passed a test. He stuck the straw into his milkshake and sipped. Moments later he nodded, a silent admission the shake was as good as advertised. Steve's heart had skipped a beat at the innuendo. He hadn't flirted with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.

"We weren't properly introduced," Steve said. He offered his hand but Mr. Stark waved it off. "I'm Steve Rogers."

"I know."

"Of course you do."

"Captain Steven Grant Rogers."

"No one calls me Steven, _Anthony_."

That earned him another smile. He understood, then, that this was Tony's comfort zone. Banter was something he could do.

"Tony," he offered. "Tony Stark, but you already knew that."

Steve shrugged and admitted, "That's all I know. Other than what Miss Potts told me at lunch. I feel, now, that I might have a bit of a difficult time fulfilling my end of the contract though."

Tony's face fell.

"Why's that?"

"Because I think I should've let you hit those photographers."

"You really should have," Tony said, with malice coating the words. "Pep said there would only be one. But you know how it is, one of them can't make a gig so they text one person who texts another who texts another and by the time I get here the whole goddamn press corps is outside."

"Will there always be photographers?"

"Yes. If you can't handle it, you better leave now because that was nothing."

"You try'na get me to leave, Stark?"

"Why are you even here, Rogers?" he whisper-shouted.

Steve didn't understand what he said to incite this shift in the air between them. He didn't like it.

"Why the hell would a man who looks like you, has a military pedigree, and what appears to be real red-blooded all-American baseball-loving apple pie-eating morals; why would you want to help someone like me?"

"Someone like you?"

"You should be out at bars, having one-night stands with hot blondes and knocking back enough beer to forget all the shit you saw during the war."

Steve replied, "I have a VA group for that."

"You fuck hot women at the VA?"

"No, I have group sessions at the VA. Alcohol doesn't help." Steve paused for a moment. "To be honest, some days the VA therapy doesn't help either." He thought back to that text. _Alcohol is not a food group._

"Is that why you're here, then?" Tony guessed. "Because you're looking for a distraction?"

"No, I am tired, Tony. I spent over a decade in the army, all of it in combat units. Guns, bombs, I even had a sword at my throat once. That's a third of my life, and the rest of it was spent chronically ill. In the army, at least I was helping people. Or, well, I thought I was."

The expression on Tony's face said he knew Steve was holding back. Thank God he didn't press further.

"I've always been fighting against something and fighting to help you keep your company is something I can handle. Then with a million dollars I can get myself a nicer apartment and give the rest to people and organizations that can start fixing things. That's one of the things I like about you, Mr. Stark. I hear that you fix things."

"Not always," he said ruefully. "And not everyone is pleased when I do."

"Well fuck 'em."

Tony choked on his milkshake. His eyes were wide when he asked,

"Did you just curse?"

"Ah, shit, my ma is rolling over in her grave." Steve dragged his palm across his face and glanced up at the ceiling. "She told me never swear on the first date."

Tony wrapped his arms around his middle and curled into himself, abandoning his milkshake to stare at the table.

"If I said I'd give a million dollars to any charity you wanted. If I said I'd give the million dollars to you and tear up the contract, would you leave?"

_Yes._

_In a second._

_In a heartbeat._

But none of those responses felt right. Steve wanted them to feel right. Tony Stark was one of the most interesting people Steve had ever met. And he was so. Fucking. Tired. of being bored.

"No, Tony. I wouldn't leave unless you asked me to."

"Is that the truth?"

He looked so vulnerable. For all his billions, his skyscraper, and his infamy ... Tony Stark needed someone to detach him from all that.

"Alright, let's make a deal. No matter how sideways this goes, I won't lie to you and you won't lie to me."

Steve offered his hand and they shook on it. Then Tony went back to slurping the dregs of his milkshake until their waitress came by and he ordered a rootbeer float.

"You could be the worst relationship I've ever had, and I'd still have to keep you."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"Really?" Tony scoffed. "You'd make my life miserable just to prove you can?"

"No." Steve shook his head and smiled. "I'm going to be the best relationship you've ever had, because if I'm not then we have quite a frustrating year ahead."

"What about you, then? How many relationships have you had, Captain?"

"One." Steve pressed his lips together for a moment before adding, "And a half."

"A half? How can you have a half?"

"We were friends for a very long time. It, um, the relationship we shoulda had wasn't the sort of thing that was tolerated."

Tony guessed, "Your friend was a man."

Steve nodded.

"Shit." Tony leaned back onto the booth with a grimace. "The repeal didn't go into effect until, what, September last year?"

"And I was discharged in January."

"So why aren't you with him now, hot stuff?"

"He died."

Tony stopped slurping his milkshake and slowly put the glass back on the table. Steve stared at it, watched the condensation form a ring around the base. It never felt like Bucky was dead until Steve said it out loud. Bucky never really left him; he was around every corner just waiting to be found. Sometimes, in Steve's mind, it was Bucky who left his neighbor's apartment every morning at three. Maybe he ran by Bucky on the street or just missed him on the subway.

Their waitress dropped off the rootbeer, but neither Steve nor Tony bothered to break the silence. Instead, Tony stood up and walked around the table to sit next to Steve. Their arms touched and it brought Steve out of whatever dark place he'd been heading to. He kept his spine rigid and shoulders tense as he spoke.

"I never thought it was wrong. I never thought _we_ were wrong."

Another long pause. Tony pulled his float across the table and sipped until Steve spoke again.

"I kissed him once, on a dare. It lasted so long that everyone knew what we were by the time it was over. I think we both knew that moment was the only time we'd hold each other like that. And then ..."

_And then he fell._

_He called my name._

_He fell and he called my goddamn name and I couldn't save him._

"Rogers?" Tony wrapped his fingers around Steve's shoulder. "Hey, hey, snap out of it. You're here with me now, okay?"

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Tell me about your other one?"

Steve smiled and said, "Her name is Peggy."

Tony let out a shaky breath through his teeth, relieved at the present tense.

"She's quite the lady and won't take shit from anybody. Annoyed more than one of the COs, but she's very determined and a great fighter, always managed to make me laugh. Oh, and she's gorgeous."

"Sounds like you two had a good time together." Tony's voice was very close to Steve's ear. Through his peripheral vision, he saw that Tony was, in fact, perched on his shoulder. "May I ask why it ended?"

"We were together for years. More years than most people have before one of them gets down on a knee, but Peggy's English and I'm stationed here. Was, I mean. I _was_ stationed here. It was obvious things would never be able to happen with Buck, and when Peggy entered the picture I understood that whole love at first sight thing."

"It's quite the thing."

"We tried to work out the logistics of it. Of marriage, a family one day ... Then Bucky died and I became a different person."

"Grief can do that," Tony said. "I know more about that than I'd care to."

"Well that person didn't sit well with Peggy. She deserved better than the man I've been the past couple years."

"You seem alright to me, Rogers."

Steve smiled.

"Give it a few more dates, then tell me again."

Conversation petered off into what Steve assumed were more typical first date banalities. He tried to figure Tony out and got nowhere. Steve was attracted to him; the man could charm the pants off just about anyone, but if this charade were to last a full year it needed to start slow.

Tony tossed an inordinately large tip down the moment he finished his float. He tugged on Steve's arm as he scooted out of the booth. Steve followed him out the door before asking,

"May I walk you home?"

Tony shook his head, stunned as flash bulbs went off behind him. He hadn't bothered to put his sunglasses back on and his coat hung loosely over his shoulders.

"Why wouldn't you? You're coming up with me."

Steve hummed low in his throat and Tony looked like someone had kicked his puppy.

"What usually happens—"

"If what usually happens worked for you, I wouldn't be here."

"But if you leave me at the door the press will think—"

"They will believe I am different." Steve took Tony's hand in his own and began walking down the street. "It's only a couple blocks away."

"And fifty different people will have photos of us holding hands on Instagram before we even make it to the tower. Smart." But Tony kept glancing down at their hands like he was analyzing Steve's grip as the photographers and their questions followed them down the street.

"Am I doing this wrong, somehow?"

"I don't know," Tony admitted. "No cause for much hand-holding in my relationships. Also very little cause for clothes."

Steve laughed and jokingly pressed his palm to his chest.

"Why, Mistah Stahk, are you propositioning me?"

Tony laughed. Steve hadn't ever seen that smile on a tabloid.

"I was just thinking there are two ways people hold hands, so do they mean different things?"

"Not to me," Steve said. "My fingers between your fingers is the default. If I wrap all my fingers around yours, then it's probably because I am in a hurry or it's just for show."

They paused at a streetlight so Tony asked, "Isn't this all just for show?"

Steve stared straight ahead and said, "It doesn't have to be."


	3. Chapter 3: Vanity Fair

Steve's stomach grumbled as he stepped into his apartment.

He laughed, realizing he left his burger and fries untouched at the diner. Tony Stark was a walking distraction. A much welcome distraction. Steve grabbed a yogurt shake-type thing from the fridge and downed it without thought. After wiping the remnants from the corner of his mouth, he shrugged off his jacket and hung it in the closet. He glimpsed the edge of a grey denim sleeve but ignored the temptation to pull it out.

Steve placed his phone on the nightstand and made sure to plug it in before unbuttoning his jeans. He wiggled out of the pants, folded them, and placed them in the second drawer of the bedside table. Steve unclasped his watch and laid it next to his phone. He dove beneath the blankets, pressed the side of his face into a too-thin pillow, and shut his eyes.

**.oOo.**

Steve groaned when his phone rang at 3:15. His fingers grasped for it, and once he unplugged the charger the phone fell to the floor in the process. He muttered a string of expletives into the pillow before tossing his legs over the side of the bed. He picked the cellphone off the floor and didn't bother looking at the name onscreen.

"Hullo?" he grumbled, stifling a yawn.

"So I'm having lunch, right?"

Steve smiled at the familiar voice.

"Sam?"

"So I'm having lunch and one of the guys in my unit happens to be obsessed with TMZ. He walks over to me and says, 'Hey, doesn't this look like that guy you have a picture with in your bunk?"

"Sam, what time is it?"

"Man, haven't you been listening? It's lunchtime." Sam shot back in the half-chiding, half-fond way he did when Steve interrupted a story. "So the guy comes over and shows me a picture on his phone and I laugh, saying, 'Nah, man, I ain't got a picture of Tony Stark in my bunk.' Then he tells me, 'No, the other guy.' So I look a little closer at this photo of some blond guy with his arm around Tony Stark's shoulders, walking into that shitty diner you used to drag me to in Midtown."

"Wow," Steve sighed. "That was fast."

"Anyway, I've only got ten minutes of lunch left and I expect nine of them to be you telling me how you ended up on a date with Tony fucking Stark."

Steve could not lie to Sam, so he settled for a version of the truth.

"His Deputy CEO introduced us."

"Did you just run into the Deputy CEO of Stark Industries at Whole Foods?"

"Nah, it was the coffee shop down on Grand."

There was a brief pause before Sam asked, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, she gave me her business card and said come meet her at the office. Tony was there when I arrived and it, um, it coulda gone better."

"Was he drunk?" Sam guessed. "It seems like he's drunk a lot."

"I certainly prefer him sober."

"Well ...?"

"Well, what?"

"How was it?"

Steve carefully considered his answer. The date had only lasted an hour, plus the five minutes it took to walk back to Stark Tower. Tony had made sickeningly cute puppy dog eyes, begging him to come upstairs to the penthouse. That was what truly rubbed Steve the wrong way; Tony looked at him as a plaything. A yearlong, monogamous plaything or a security guard to fuck. Steve needed to make Tony understand there were boundaries. Steve was not a prostitute, not a fucktoy. Outside the doors of Stark Tower and in front of more than a few cameras, he bent to kiss Tony on the cheek before saying good-bye.

"Weird, at first."

"Well yeah, who the hell decided to go to a diner on a first date? With all his money he should have flown you to Rome or some shit like that."

"The Deputy CEO chose the place."

"If you're letting his staff plan your dates, it doesn't sound like either one of you wanted this to happen."

"We didn't."

"So you won't be seeing him again."

"Nah, Sam, I'mma see him again."

"What changed, then? Bathroom BJ?"

"I'm a gentleman," Steve teased. "Dicks stay in pants on the first date."

"Whatever, man, we know you got your social graces from like 1918."

Steve ran a hand over his face, still half-asleep.

"I think she knew I had history at that place. It's sort of terrifying how manipulative they can be, but I was happy to be there. It was nice to walk into a place where I have memories and make some new ones. But in the process I told him about Bucky."

Sam sucked a surprised breath of air through his teeth. He didn't say anything for several seconds so Steve listened to him breathe. He felt more at home on the phone with Sam than he did any other time in his actual apartment. Sam was his best friend, the one person in the world he trusted with conversations like this.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "I almost lost it right then. I think this is a real bad idea."

"You're right, it probably is."

Steve's fingers tightened around the phone.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"How would you feel if you came home but didn't have any family or friends to come home to?"

"I don't know. I would probably be bored as hell waiting for my pension check every month and hoping my friends call me from Afghanistan at three in the goddamn morning." Sam paused then let out an "Ah" of understanding. "Stark's an interesting bastard and you, Steve Rogers, are bored."

"So bored."

"Not a great basis for a relationship."

"But I kinda liked him."

"Why?"

"Because he's trying to hide from the world, too. I did that for a whole decade, I don't want to watch somebody else go through it. Not when I could help him."

Another silence lingered before Sam said, "You could always look the other way."

"Would you?"

"No."

"That's just it, Sam. I think we're both desperate, and we both need somebody to love."

"Dropping the L word already?"

"NO!" Steve shouted. "Hell no, I haven't even kissed him."

"I don't know about that, there's another photo here of you kissing him good-bye out front of his skyscraper. Because he's a billionaire who has a skyscraper."

"If you ask his deputy, he's also a slut with a drinking problem."

"Well now I'm asking you," Sam quipped. "What did you think of Stark?"

Steve thought about it. Tony offered to tear up the contract and that surprised him more than anything else. He didn't like the idea of forcing Steve into this; the situation didn't sit well with either of them. But the way he listened when Steve spoke about losing Bucky, he said, "I know more about that than I'd care to." Then changed the subject when it became too personal, too dark.

"I think he lost someone, too."

"If you wanna be two peas in a lonely-ass pod, then you two go right ahead. But Steve?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Be careful with this. If it ends badly, everyone will blame him and you will blame yourself for that. So think about it, maybe go on a few more dates with him, but don't dive into the deep end of the pool unless you know what you're doing. Now, my lunch is over so all I will say is that if you fuck a billionaire you have to tell me about it in excruciatingly awkward detail."

Steve gave him a mock salute that Sam couldn't see and teased, "Yessir."

"Bye, Steve."

"Seeya, Sam."

The line went dead and Steve plugged the charger back into his phone. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

**.oOo.**

Steve woke up at eight.

No groaning pipes. No crushing ice cubes or doors opening down the hall at three. He'd slept in for the first time in God only knew how long. Steve pushed the covers down with his feet, groaning as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He began his morning stretch routine: head tilt right, head tilt left, try not to wince at the neck pop. Shoulders back, spine cracks-_damn_ when did he get so old?

Steve tossed his legs over the side of the bed and felt more alive than he had the day before. His morning routine was the same, but it felt different. Instead of going through the motions, Steve was _doing_ it, _participating_ in it. As he brushed his teeth, Steve wondered why he slept so well. (Interruption from Sam aside.) Maybe he was truly getting old. But then, his spinal joints cracked well before he left the army. His body had been put through far more than Steve should have asked of it, and he would pay the price.

Before the army, Steve laughed at the idea of morning rituals. He was a get out of bed, stumble to the bathroom, hope everything's done by seven-thirty type of person. The military punches that out of a person pretty quick, sometimes literally. Steve pulled on the same sweatpants as the day before, grabbed the BIG RED ONE shirt Sam bought for him, and plugged his earbuds into his iPhone.

_Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot_.

Running through New York wasn't really running. It was running, jogging, stopping to wait for a light, running across the street, and continuing the process until he hit Prospect Park. Halfway there, someone tapped Steve on his arm in a crosswalk. He pulled out one earbud to hear them say,

"Hey, you're that guy!"

Steve blinked and kept walking. He shrugged it off until he made a left turn and another person did the same thing.

"Hey, I saw you on Instagram! You're Tony Stark's boyfriend."

Steve went a little pale as he said, "I wouldn't say boyfriend. It was a date."

He was still quite wary about all this. Sam was right; being bored wasn't a reason to throw himself into a yearlong commitment with anything. Let alone a fake relationship with a man who was a magnet for cameras.

"No, hey, man, no, it's really cool, though." This young man couldn't be any more than twenty and he stumbled all over his words. "I'm majoring in computational and applied math at NYU so Tony Stark is basically my hero."

That made Steve pause for a moment. He pulled out his remaining earbud and turned to face the kid full-on.

"May I ask why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is Tony your hero?"

"Oh!" The kid's eyes lit up. "Because he's brilliant. He does everything, invents things that would take a thousand people ten more years to think up. Tony Stark is like the sun and everything else in the world of technology revolves around him, because his energy empowers the rest of us to help make his ideas a reality."

"I like that," Steve admitted. "Never thought of him that way."

"It is my dream to work for him," she admitted, "but he might not even have a company by the time I graduate, if that _Vanity Fair _piece is right." That was the second time someone dropped that magazine into the conversation like it was important. "But I hope he's turning things around. Who knows? Maybe that starts with you."

She smiled up at Steve and some part of him thought, _Yes, I am doing the right thing._ Before he could even offer his hand or his name, the young man turned away.

"I won't interrupt you anymore, just ... Just wanted to say hi, I guess. Okay, bye now!" He ran toward the street where the orange hand signal had just appeared with a ten-second countdown.

Steve turned away and prepped for his run. Both earbuds went back in and he made it two full miles before someone else stopped him. Once he completed the first loop of the park, someone cornered him at the entrance to ask for a photo. Sweat dripped down Steve's face and there was a damp patch on the front of his shirt, but he bent low into the frame and smiled. The person thanked him and Steve went back to running. He completed one more loop and was stopped twice again by fellow runners.

He kept his head down on the way back. Not that he wanted to be rude, but he was so invested in his routine that any interruption threw off the whole day. And he was not happy taking selfies while his hair was sweat-slick and stuck to his forehead. Steve wandered into a bookstore about a half mile from his apartment, because he had questions that couldn't wait. He scanned the magazine racks until he spotted the issue of _Vanity Fair_ with Julia Roberts on the cover. Beneath the magazine logo was a blurb that read,

"TONY STARK'S PLAYBOY WAYS MIGHT COST HIM EVERYTHING"

By Christine Everhart

Steve grabbed the magazine and paid for it as the cashier did a double-take. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, but if this was how life was going to be then Steve didn't plan on leaving his apartment for the next year. He had been entirely alone these past few months. No one outside of the VA noticed him much at all, and there was comfort in that. Steve supposed one date with Tony Stark had shot that all to hell. He sat by the window, angled away and toward the store but with a solid view of the front entrance. He flipped through the pages until he landed on the story titled, "The Mutiny at Stark Industries Has Begun."

_Billionaire inventor Tony Stark has been officially reprimanded by the board of Stark Industries. The mutiny, led by Dr. Simon Gilbert, asserts that Stark's public displays of debauchery and consistent alcohol abuse are perpetual dangers to the company's welfare. Stark is currently on a three-month probationary period, during which he is not permitted to publicly involve himself in any of the activities previously mentioned. Should he fail, Tony Stark will be removed as President and CEO of Stark Industries._

_When asked for comment, Deputy CEO Pepper Potts said, "Tony is the lifeblood of Stark Industries and removing him from his post would be the downfall of this company."_

_Dr. Simon Gilbert countered with, "We are the largest technology provider in North America and one of the largest tech companies in the world. Our stock value and international reputation cannot handle the ups and downs of Mr. Stark's antics. Something had to be done."_

_Though the year is barely three months old, twice as many women have been spotted doing the walk of shame out of the employee entrance to Stark Tower. This, in addition to his reported tryst with Jennifer Aniston. The only question is who will be on Mr. Stark's arm at the annual NAS Fundraiser where he will be receiving the Innovator of the Year award._

_Before he was kidnapped by the Ten Rings terrorist organization four years ago, Tony Stark had a reputation as a true man about town in both New York and Hollywood. Since he was rescued, however, Mr. Stark has thrown himself into a continuous downward spiral, in front of the cameras for the world to see. Despite that, he has managed three annual upgrades to the StarkPhone operating system and developed renewable energy technology that now powers the entirety of Stark Tower in Manhattan._

_Tony Stark can do almost anything, but this mutiny may be the one thing he can't escape._

Steve tossed the magazine in the recycling bin but thought about it all the way back to his apartment. He trudged up the stairs and somehow made it inside. There were pictures. _Pictures_ of women leaving the tower in their taxis, visibly rumpled from the previous night's activities. Was that how Steve would end up? Nothing but a wrinkled t-shirt and yesterday's jeans as he made his way down to the subway?

He didn't believe it. Tony Stark didn't seem like the kind of man to toss women out of bed and demand they leave. Quite the opposite, Tony seemed to be the person who would jump away at the first opportunity. Tony Stark was a commitment-phobe, not a dick who forced women out of his bed at first light.

Well, he might be a dick. Steve couldn't say for sure after knowing him for all of an hour and five minutes, but he had always been adept at reading people. Stark was more than the man presented in that article, so Steve placed it out of mind.

He peeled his clothes off and turned the shower to the hottest setting. The building was so old that the warm water took three minutes to make its way up to his apartment. Steve leaned against the doorframe and listened to the sound of water droplets hitting the shower floor. There were so many questions for Tony to answer. Steve supposed he could ask Miss Potts, but that wasn't his choice, was it? Tony was meant to be his boyfriend, so he would go to Tony with his questions. Delicately.

Steve stepped into the water when it was barely warm enough not to chill him to the bone. He grimaced against the cold spray but managed to shampoo and condition his hair before the water scalded him. He hissed in pain then turned the knob to the right; the water chilled immediately. Steve half-fell onto the shower wall and sighed. He scrubbed off the sweat and grime, but parts of the run lingered. His privacy had disappeared. He pressed his forehead into the wall and asked himself, was it worth it?

Steve Rogers realized he would do very dangerous things for a nice shower, and dating Tony Stark was definitely on that list. So he toweled off and dressed before pulling half of a leftover sandwich from the fridge. Steve watched it spin around in the microwave as his mouth practically watered at the smell. He hadn't eaten anything since lunch the previous day and that deli down the block made the best subs in Brooklyn.

Steve's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw it was a text from the number saved under Pepper Potts.

_Sleepover tonight. 7:00_


	4. Chapter 4: Pizza Pity Party

Steve stared into the top drawer of his bedside table with rapidly increasing terror.

The open duffel bag on the bed taunted him with its emptiness. Steve Rogers had seen war. He killed people, led more than a dozen ops, and still carried shrapnel in his left forearm. But he was not sure how to handle this.

Steve rarely slept in a shirt. What if, in the morning, he went out for a glass of orange juice and ran into Tony? What if there were cameras in the penthouse? Surely someone as tech-savvy as Tony Stark had cameras and Steve's abs would be in full view on film. The goal of this date was to prove he was not available for lecherous activity, so he reluctantly grabbed a grey t-shirt from the drawer.

Everyone in his unit said he would go a bit crazy the moment he got out. Twelve goddamn years in the service plus basic, Steve had spent nearly half his life in the army. While he immediately came home and settled into a quiet, non-abrasive life, he allowed himself one luxury purchase: two pairs of black silk pajama pants. Steve tossed one pair into the duffel then turned to face the closet.

A button-down or a t-shirt? Steve groaned as he scanned his options: white/grey/black button-down, army t-shirts, and a lilac cashmere sweater Peggy made him buy back in 2008. A purchase that certainly paid dividends; every time he wore it she ended up taking the sweater off. The cashmere sweater would certainly send the wrong signal, so Steve settled on the puke-green ARMY t-shirt and threw a black leather jacket on top.

His phone buzzed with a text.

_I'm downstairs._

_-Happy_

Steve rolled his eyes. The number of people with his phone number doubled over the previous 36 hours. Once he opened the front door, though, he didn't need a lot of deductive reasoning to figure out which person was Happy.

"Hiya, Captain Rogers!"

Steve nodded and greeted him with, "Hello." He gestured to the limousine in front of his apartment and asked, "Is this how Mr. Stark usually picks up his dates?"

"Technically I am not allowed to reveal information about Mr. Stark's personal life," Happy said. "However, I will say no, this is not generally my function. Would I say that makes you unique? Yes. Now, feel free to—"

"I was gonna take the subway," Steve said with a sigh. He looked around at everyone who had paused their journeys to stare at him, or maybe stare at the limo blocking traffic. "I'm not the limousine sorta person."

"Mr. Stark insists."

"And Mr. Stark usually gets what he wants?"

Happy's smile widened and he agreed, "Yessir, he does, and I make it happen."

"Fine," Steve said, opening the back door and tossing the duffel bag inside, "but we have to make a stop along the way."

**.oOo.**

Steve should not have been surprised to see photographers when the limo pulled to a stop outside Stark Tower. He let his shoulders slump for a moment as he realized he had a full year of this to look forward to. Steve quickly shook it off and asked Happy,

"Where do I go?"

"Elevator in the northeast corner. JARVIS will take you up."

"Thank you," Steve nodded in gratitude and grabbed the door handle. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Hogan."

"I hope to be seeing you again, Captain Rogers," Happy replied in a tone that heavily implied the opposite. He looked at Steve in the rearview mirror with a sad smile on his face.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Of course I will. You better get upstairs before that pizza gets cold."

"I'm sure he has an oven," Steve quipped as he lifted his fingers from the handle. "You seem to know Tony well."

"Been his security guard for ten years now." Happy's grin morphed into the same smile Steve had seen on that kid at the park. There was pride in his eyes. "I'm never bored."

"If you've known Tony for a decade, why would you assume you won't be seeing me again?"

"Captain Rogers, you're a new thing. You're not someone he picked up at a club or an event; if Miss Potts saw something in you then you've gotta be special. But Tony doesn't let people in because he's afraid of losing them, so he pushes them away. The more he cares, the harder he pushes and he is gonna hate how much he likes you."

Steve smiled and wondered, "Then how'd you stay around so long?"

"Each time he fired me I would show up the next shift with a smile and a cheeseburger. Well-done, no pickles."

"I'll remember that."

Steve opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk with his overnight duffel in one hand and a pizza box in the other. He smiled at the photographers then jogged past as quickly as he could. Steve flung open the front door and made a beeline for the elevator, sprinting through the straggling crowds in the lobby.

The elevator was empty.

"Good evening, Captain Rogers."

Steve jumped as a disembodied robotic voice rang inside the lift. The elevator doors closed, but none of the floor buttons were illuminated as it began its ascent.

"My name is JARVIS. Welcome."

Steve warily asked, "Where are you?"

"I am accessible at all of Mr. Stark's properties and via his personal devices."

Oh.

"Artificial Intelligence," Steve realized aloud. "Holy fuck. So do you, um, do you know about ...?" He trailed off, because he was asking a disembodied robot how much it knew about his faux-romance with Tony.

"Miss Potts informed me of her plan and I gathered the requested data."

"How much data, exactly?"

"I am not permitted to reveal the contents of the Steve Rogers files to anyone except Mr. Stark and Miss Potts. However, yesterday the folder was renamed 'Captain Biceps.'"

Steve laughed as the elevator doors opened.

"At least he liked something." He stepped into the penthouse and breathed out, "Wow."

The room felt bigger than it was. A large, half-circle couch dominated the center of the room. Steve took note of a coffee table and a few scattered chairs, then the work desk shoved toward the right side of the room like an afterthought. A well-stocked bar ran along the back of the room, but it was the floor-to-ceiling windows that took Steve's breath away.

From his vantage point, the only thing visible was the top of One Vanderbilt with the sky a sunset orange behind it. Steve frowned, out of place at the literal height of luxury. He tossed his duffel onto one of the chairs and moved toward the bar.

"Mr. Jarvis, where is Tony now?"

"There is no need for formality, Captain Rogers, you can call me JARVIS. Mr. Stark is in his workshop."

Steve grabbed two glasses from the bar and filled them with water.

"How much of the penthouse can you see?"

"I have access to sensors in every room."

"But if I were in the shower," Steve wondered, "would you be able to see me?"

"No, that would require a specific override of privacy protocol."

"Good to know." He held the two glasses in one hand and the box of pizza in the other. Steve made his way around the bar before realizing he had no idea where to go. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Where is the workshop?"

"Down the stairs on your left."

Steve followed the directions and slowly made his way down the staircase.

"Jarvis, I'd like to ask you a question and you might not be able to answer it, but I'm gonna ask you anyway."

"Of course, Captain."

"Miss Potts listed off a bunch of reasons she chose me for this, but I get the feeling there's something else."

"I believe you would be correct."

"How many others were considered for this assignment?"

"None, sir."

"Wow," Steve said. Admittedly, a little flattered. "Then why me?"

"Miss Potts wanted someone who never runs away from a worthwhile fight, who could be trusted implicitly, and most importantly, someone Mr. Stark would want to keep in his life for an extended period of time. You are the optimal candidate matching those criteria."

"I don't know about optimal, this all seems a bit much for me." He reached the bottom of the stairs to find his way blocked by a glass door. "Don't suppose you could open this for me?"

"Of course."

Sure enough, the door swung open and Steve's ears were assaulted by Iron Maiden. He walked inside and gently kicked the door shut behind him. Tony was working on something at a table in the center of the room, surrounded by bright blue holograms while tugging at his bright red earmuffs. Steve placed the pizza on the table closest to the door, the only spot not covered with high-tech machinery or paperwork with post-its reading "SIGN THIS RIGHT NOW" and "Read for Thursday's board meeting."

He placed the water glasses on the table and plopped into a chair to watch the show. It was quite entertaining, watching Tony dance his way around the work table as his hands remained steady on his tools. A few minutes later he shouted,

"J, turn down the music!"

Iron Maiden faded to something around a normal decibel.

"Order me some pizza, will you? I'm so hungry I can smell it."

"I believe Captain Rogers has you covered, Sir."

Steve couldn't hold back a smile once Tony turned around. His hair was slick with sweat and his arms were covered with grease stains. He wore a black tank top that was nearly soaked and jeans that had seen better days. It was the happiest Steve had seen him yet.

"Hey, soldier."

"Hi, Tony."

"I didn't know you were coming over, otherwise I would have—"

"I like this just fine. It's nice watching you work."

"Admit it," Tony pointed a wrench at him and said, "you just wanted to stare at my ass."

"It's a nice ass," Steve conceded. He pushed the pizza box forward and said, "Pepperoni and sausage."

Tony sprinted over and stuffed at least half a slice down his throat.

"Ohmahgawd," he grumbled through a mouthful. He fell backward into another free chair and said, "You have no idea how much I needed this."

"Take as much time as you like to enjoy it. I'm here all night according to Miss Potts."

"That reminds me, Rogers, before this," he gestured to the space between them with his hand holding a second slice of pizza, "goes any further, we need to talk."

"Yes," Steve agreed, "I have questions."

"I only have one question."

"Okay."

"Why did you lie to Pepper?"

Steve pulled a slice from the box and bit off the end.

"I haven't lied to Miss Potts."

"Yes, you did. I found your Facebook."

Steve took another bite and grumbled, "The amount of information you and Miss Potts have gathered about my life is terrifying. And it wasn't a lie. I chose not to correct her assumption because I don't want anyone to know about it."

"Roger Stephens," Tony said as he picked apart some crust, "clever. You only have three friends, though. No status updates, no one posting to your wall, and no photos."

"Sam doesn't always have access to a phone with signal, but they have computers at Bagram. The other friend you found, Nat, she uses too many burner phones for me to keep track. If she's in town she will message me there. That's why I have a Facebook; not because I want one, but because my friends need a way to contact me."

"What about James?" Tony asked. "What does he do?"

Steve's heart dropped all the way to his stomach. He put half the pizza slice back in the box as his hunger evaporated. Better to get this done quickly and move onto a less painful topic. He took a deep breath and said,

"His name was James Buchanan Barnes."

"Huh. What kind of parent names their kid after a president? You know James Buchanan was a confirmed bachelor? I had a thing with a girl on the quiz bowl team at MIT so I learned a bunch of history and—wait. James _Buchanan_? As in—"

"As in Bucky."

"Oh."

The workshop went silent. Or, as silent as Tony Stark's workshop could go. There was a constant hum of machinery in the background. Something beeped, but Tony paid it no mind and Steve allowed the quiet to linger as he gathered his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't have enough words for it.

"I met Nat on a mission in Ukraine while she was working with the KGB. We were gunning for the same target. She and Bucky were, um, I believe the term is 'friends with benefits?'"

Tony offered, "Fuckbuddy?"

"Either works," Steve answered with a sardonic smile. "His death cut her pretty deep, too, but brought us closer together as friends. Sam never met Bucky. It was suggested by more than one of my superiors that I resign from military duty after Bucky's death because I ..."

"You said yesterday that you became a different person."

"'Impulsive' was the word they used. It's a nice way for them to say I didn't care whether I lived or died. I threw myself into our ops, always took the riskiest approach and nearly got men killed in the process. I only met Sam because my stupid ass got trapped and he is Air Force pararescue."

Tony sipped some water then asked, "How long ago did he die?"

"Three-and-a-half years ago."

"Then why does he still have a Facebook?"

"His sister contacted Facebook and they won't remove the page because he's not technically dead."

"How's that?"

"Never found the body." Steve scrunched up his nose and forced back tears that were reserved for the focus group and his therapist. "The army has him listed as MIA. I hate the hope that comes along with it."

"I don't think you should lose that," Tony said, his voice jarringly soft. "When you haven't got anything else, hope is a nice thing to have."

"Every year on March 10th we get a reminder about Bucky's birthday." Steve's hands shook so he twined his fingers together and hoped Tony didn't notice. "When that little red number one pops up on my app I hope it's Bucky with a nice message telling me he's risen from the dead. Pretty sure my ma'd say that's blasphemy but neither she or Buck is here to give me shit about it."

"Do you even want to move on, Steve?"

He blinked in surprise and looked up to meet Tony's gaze.

"What?"

"It doesn't sound like you have any interest in moving on from Barnes."

"You don't know anything about what I want," Steve snapped.

There was something in Tony's eyes, a look that meant he had Steve right where he wanted him. Like he knew exactly which buttons to push to make Steve reconsider the choices that brought them together in the first place.

"I know you did something in the army that was so bad even I can't figure out how to access the documents. All I get is a bunch of black redaction lines on stacks of paper."

"As you're the Steve Rogers expert now, tell me what else you think you know."

"Purple heart, wounded in action three times and you're a fucking moron who kept going back to the fight."

Steve grabbed his half-finished slice and mumbled, "Always thought I was doing the right thing," as he bit off another portion.

"But Pepper found whatever I didn't," Tony admitted. He waited until Steve looked up at him to ask, "What happened in Austria?"

"A lot of things happened in Austria, Mr. Stark, you'll need to be more specific."

"Then tell me about them."

"What gives you the right to know?!" Steve stood up and tossed his pizza slice into the box as rage warmed him from tip to toe. "This is a business deal, Stark, I am not a project for you to study or a problem that needs to be fixed. This is my life and I don't want you or Miss Potts or anyone else digging into it!"

"Touched a nerve?"

"I lost him, alright?!" Steve shouted. "Three-and-a-half years ago a stealth op went wrong. Our target was on a high speed train travelling around a mountain in Austria. I acquired the target and Bucky fell off the train because I got distracted for half a second. If I'd just been a bit quicker, if I'd just noticed sooner ..." He choked on a sob. "I'd've been able to grab him."

"Steve," Tony whispered, "it's not your fault."

"How the hell would you know?! How could you possibly understand what it feels like? I could have saved the person I cared about most in the goddamn world, but I was not _enough_."

"Believe me, Steve, I—"

"No, I don't believe you. You cannot understand what that moment did to me. What it still does to me. It ruined my relationship with Peggy and it has damaged me more than any hit I ever took. When Bucky fell I saw a dozen futures hit the ground. My best friend, the man I loved more than anyone ... Gone right out from under me. And do you know what he shouted as he fell?"

"What?"

"My name. He yelled my name like if anybody could save him it'd be me, but I was too late. I lost a soldier, a friend, and my goddamn soulmate all at once. You escaped Afghanistan and came back to your life here in New York with your ugly skyscraper and your robots and your friends ... There is no way for you to understand the pain of realizing that I had made war my life, and war took my future away from me."

"You are a presumptuous asshole, Steve." Tony crossed his arms and leaned further back in his chair. "Everyone loses people they love, but you haven't asked who I lost or what happened to me in Afghanistan."

"You know what?" He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't think I care."

"No one ever does," Tony replied.

"I cared until you assumed I don't want to move on."

"Sure, Captain, but you still haven't said I'm wrong."

Steve turned on his heel and headed for the door. He flung it open a bit too hard and it clanged before slamming shut behind him. Steve took the stairs two at a time. Being in the penthouse was suffocating, so high up there wasn't enough air to breathe. Just like it had been on that goddamn mountainside when Steve's best friend slipped through his fingers.

The worst part was that Tony was not entirely wrong. Steve wanted to move on from Bucky because that love held him back, but he didn't know how to move on without forgetting the way Bucky made him feel. Steve never wanted to lose that. At least he was certain of one thing ...

If he was going to move on, it wouldn't be with Tony Stark.


	5. Chapter 5: Thorapy

By the time Thursday morning rolled around, Steve didn't remember a damn thing about Wednesday.

Monday was filled with Tony. Tuesday had been all about Tony. Wednesday ... Well, Steve hadn't meant to type "tony stark" into Google, his fingers did it of their own volition. He stared at five different photos of his face plastered on the phone screen beneath headlines like, "Tony Two-Dates," "Another One Bites the Dust," and "Stark Broke His Toy Soldier." Steve rolled his eyes; it was a dumbass move to walk out the front door. He barreled right through the photographers and hailed the first cab he saw.

He hardly slept that night, knowing he overreacted a bit. Perhaps more than a bit.

He stayed in his apartment the next day and only turned on the TV for noise. Steve cleaned for awhile, and when that was done he had a sandwich delivered. Wednesday slowly wasted away and the only thing that kept him moving was knowing he had somewhere to be on Thursday.

Steve was required to attend therapy appointments every Thursday for the rest of the year, like clockwork. His entire life was clockwork when it wasn't being shoved in front of the entire world. While Steve would never say he was excited for therapy, there were weeks he knew he needed it. Most of the fourteen sessions had been mundane conversation but in every week there was a moment he needed to hear someone say things would get better. And Steve knew every week he could count on Dr. Odinson to be that person.

He stood patiently in the lobby on Thursday morning until a voice came thundering out from the end of the hall.

"STEVEN!"

There was just enough time for Steve to brace himself before he received a hug so tight his ribs threatened to crack. His toes dangled a good two inches above the ground as he wrapped his arms around Thor's shoulders and gave him a friendly pat on the back. He croaked out,

"Good week?"

"Always, my friend!" Thor placed him back on the ground and smiled. "Shall we go to my office so you may speak freely of yours?"

Steve followed him back, wondering whether this ever got any easier. But if there was any truth to civilian life, it was that when the world got rough Thor was the one person who could set it right again. Though Steve would swear he wasn't a day over 35, Thor was 50 years old and hailed from a Nordic island called Asgard where he may or may not have been royalty. Google was distressingly vague on that point.

After Steve recounted the shitshow of the past three days, Thor summed it up with,

"You have spun quite the yarn."

"Great analysis," Steve teased. "That's why they pay you the big bucks."

"I see what you are trying to do, Steven, but have you been completely honest with yourself?"

"I think so?" he replied, not intending it to be a question. "I haven't lied about anything."

"No, you don't lie, but you are confused about why you do certain things. Is it fair to say you made the military your life?"

"Peggy said that a lot, especially after Buck died. It never insulted me, though, as long as the fight was worthwhile. It felt like the army was what I was born to do."

"And then you came home to find that there is no war. Nowhere for you to be the perfect soldier like you had been for so many years," Thor said. "You have the habit of looking for a fight, and if there isn't one you will make one."

Steve slumped a bit in his seat and stared at the edge of Thor's desk.

"That's not an entirely unfair portrayal."

"Mr. Stark wanted to push you out of his life and you wanted to be pushed."

"Well—"

"In the three months you have been out of the military, you have not made any meaningful connections here in New York."

"I see the same people every week at the VA," Steve countered. "We speak about things, very personal things."

"But once you leave that room your connection to those people remains behind the door. I am not talking about your favorite barista at the coffee shop or the people you see on your morning runs. If you were in trouble, Steve, is there anyone here that you would call for help?"

He shrugged and admitted, "I would probably call you."

"I am your Thorapist, not supposed to be a friend."

Steve scrunched up his nose, halfway between an exasperated sigh and a laugh.

"I really can't take you seriously when you call yourself a 'Thorapist.'"

"It is on my business card and you take me seriously enough to keep coming back. Now, let's return to the fact that you have no friends."

"I have friends!" Steve insisted. "I just don't have any here."

"Yes, and they remain in active military service with the exception of Staff Sergeant Barnes, who is deceased."

"Natasha is CIA, so technically—"

"You were presented with an opportunity to make your first true connection to someone outside of the military. Not only that, but this connection was guaranteed to last a full year, and perhaps even beyond. Is it really a surprise you signed that contract?"

Steve shrugged and said, "I suppose not."

"Tell me, then, what do you think of Mr. Stark?"

"He's an asshole."

"You could have picked that up from a tabloid." Thor leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. "Was there any way you connected with him?"

"Grief." Steve didn't hesitate in that answer. "He understood what I was going through but didn't want to talk about it. He knew I had no interest in really talking about it either, and that is why he pressed me so hard about Bucky when he wanted me gone. He knew I'd shut it down, call him a dick, and then I'd leave. It was a test and I didn't sign up to be tested. I did not sign up to be his fucktoy, I wanted to _help_ him."

"Is it possible you misread the situation?"

"How?"

"You signed up because Tony Stark was interesting. You said so ten minutes ago, so maybe you wanted to help yourself, too. And that is fine, taking advantage of the opportunity presented to you, so consider that Stark may have been doing the same thing. Perhaps this was his way of opening up to you."

"I don't understand."

"Maybe you are right and it was a test, but not of whether you would leave. If Mr. Stark could get you to open up about your deepest pain then he would feel safe opening up about his own."

"Balancing the scales?"

"Exactly!" Thor's voice thundered throughout the small office.

Steve could not suppress a smile. Thor always congratulated him with so much enthusiasm he felt like a five-year-old about to receive a gold star. But after thinking about it for a moment, his smile toppled into a frown.

"Does that make me the asshole?"

Thor grinned and said, "That is for you to determine, my friend."

"But he ..." Steve trailed off, lost in the memory of Tony's workshop. Lost in heavy metal music and almond-shaped eyes that tempted him into opening up his deepest wound. "I think I liked him."

Thor hummed, thinking for a few moments before resuming the inquisition.

"Before me, how many people knew about your sexual preferences?"

Steve felt his cheeks warm up at the question.

"I assume all of the Howling Commandos, Peggy, Sam, the 10th Mountain Division ..."

"But who had you told?" Thor asked. "To whom have you said, 'I am bisexual?'"

Steve answered, "Nobody. Before you told me, I didn't know there was a word for it. Well, the army had lotsa different names for it, none of 'em nice." He took a deep, shaky breath before he continued. "My ma knew I was before I did. I mighta been thirteen when she asked if I looked at Bucky a little differently than I looked at other boys. Nobody said anything back then; it wasn't something people talked about but I knew I wasn't gay. I told my ma that I looked at Buck the way I looked at girls and she said that was okay."

"What else did she say?"

"To keep my head up." Steve wiped away the tears that built up in the corners of his eyes. "But it was hard, so I never told anyone. I was so goddamn tiny and already fighting everybody who looked at me wrong. Last thing I needed was another reason for people to kick the shit outta me."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"Peggy knew because I told her. Figured she should know the whole truth, know that some part of me was always going to wonder what coulda been. She was it, though, I never told anybody else. You know they did separate us once for about six months. Bucky was on a mission, that's where he met Natasha, and I had Peggy. Buck and I were fine, happy even. Then he came back and fuckin' died on me, so now I'm here."

Thor nodded.

"Now you are here with your face on every media network you've ever heard of, holding hands with one of the most famous men in the world. No matter how good you were at hiding, there is no concealing this relationship. One that you knew would involve cameras."

"But I'm not ashamed."

"No, Steven, I don't believe you are. I think you spent a very long time in an environment where being with a man was not allowed and, if revealed, could mean the end of your career. It would end the life you believed you wanted. After hiding for so long, this incredibly personal part of you has been exposed for the world to see. Were you having second thoughts about the contract?"

"No," Steve insisted, "I honor my commitments."

"But this is different, is it not? Pretending to be in a relationship that will involve very real emotions. It sounds like something you would rather fight because fighting is a safety net. If you fight it, then maybe what you feel isn't real at all."

"Tony fought back," Steve insisted, a little petulant. "It wasn't like I was in this alone, he all but pushed me out the door."

"That may be true, but the question you need to ask yourself, Steven, is whether you were fighting _with_ Tony or fighting your feelings for him."

Steve bit down on his lip and groaned, annoyed he hadn't understood the difference two days earlier.

"Aw, shit."

Thor smiled and said, "Perhaps you should try running toward your problems instead of running away from them."

**.oOo.**

It took twenty-five minutes to get from Thor's office to Midtown. Steve checked his watch every two minutes, hoping to God that Tony wasn't busy. Once they arrived, he hopped out of the taxi and straight into the best burger place he knew within walking distance of Stark Tower.

11:00.

11:01.

It was 11:02 when Steve finally reached the front of the line and placed his order.

The employee said, "You could probably use one of these after the day you've had, huh?" As if they were friends.

Steve would never get used to random people knowing things about his life. He knew there would be quite a few Thorapy sessions about that in the future. But he smiled and nodded at the employee behind the counter, directing the kid to put this topping on that one and so forth. He ignored all the questions until the customer in front of him turned around to ask about Tony.

Steve shrugged and admitted, "Even if I had an answer I probably wouldn't give it to you."

He left the shop at 11:09 and raced across the street with his hands clamped firmly around both of his takeout boxes. It was a thirteen-minute walk, but if he played the crosswalks right he could be there in ten.

Steve walked into the lobby of Stark Tower at 11:20 to find Pepper Potts waiting for him. He trudged over to the elevator in the northeast corner. She looked tired. Not in her face, but in her posture; like she was trying to hold herself up beneath the weight of something heavy.

"I don't know whether to hit you for leaving or hug you for coming back," she said.

"I made a promise, Miss Potts, and I signed a contract. I intend to honor it."

"Oh," she said, deflating a little more. "Is that all?"

"I suspect you chose me for this because you knew that wouldn't be all."

"Even I am wrong sometimes. It is good that you came back," she said, poking at something on her tablet. "Nobody ever comes back for him."

"I saw something worth coming back for," Steve said.

She looked up at him and smiled just the slightest bit.

"Tony is in a board meeting right now; it just started so it may be awhile, but you are welcome to wait in the penthouse."

"Thank you, Miss Potts."

She cautioned, "Don't thank me just yet. Yesterday was a hell of a day. Good luck."

Then she left to speak with someone across the lobby. All the people in this building seemed to have conversations that same way. They began and ended quite abruptly, and Steve was forgotten the moment they needed to be somewhere else. With that thought, he stepped inside the elevator and was greeted by a familiar (if creepy) robotic voice.

"Welcome back, Captain Rogers."

"Thank you, Jarvis." He adjusted his feet as the elevator began its ascent. "How has Tony been?"

"I am not permitted to discuss Mr. Stark's behaviour with anyone except Miss Potts, Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Hogan."

Drinking, then. Steve felt incredibly shitty, knowing he'd driven Tony back to that point. It made Steve more determined than ever to make it right.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Where is this meeting? The one Tony's at."

"It is on the 61st floor, sir."

"Would you mind letting me off there? I brought Tony something time-sensitive."

"Of course." Jarvis paused for a very long time as the elevator climbed past the fortieth floor. "You will go straight and make a left at the end of the hall."

"Thank you."

The rest of the ride was silent as Steve watched the floor numbers tick up to 61. The doors parted and he made his way down the hall. The walls alongside the hallway were made of glass, and he watched everyone stare as he passed with paper boxes in his hands. With all the suits and well-shined shoes staring back at him, Steve may as well have been the delivery boy.

Then he turned left and caught sight of Tony at the end of the hall. Steve paused for a moment to look at President and CEO Tony Stark. The man at the head of the table was different from first date!Tony and asshole!Tony, who looked prepared to murder the man giving the presentation. The pencil in Tony's hand had snapped, but his fingers were still clamped around the nub as his thumb dug into the broken wood on top.

The conference room was tucked into the corner with a presentation pulled up on the television screen against the far wall. Tony wore an impeccably tailored suit and shoes that shone brighter than some of the lights in Times Square, a departure from the man Steve remembered in the workshop. There was a great deal about Tony Stark he had yet to learn. Steve lost his nerve for a moment, but figured he couldn't fall much lower in Tony's favor than he already was. So he rapped his knuckles on the conference room door.

It was almost comical, a dozen heads simultaneously swiveling around to look at him. Steve smiled and waved at Tony, who was frozen to his seat. He glared at Steve, who knew he deserved it. For his part, Steve shrugged and nodded down at the boxes between his hands. After a few tense moments of eye contact, Tony shot out of his chair and opened the door with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked as the door fell closed behind him.

"Apologizing."

Steve offered the top box, but Tony immediately said, "I don't like to be handed things."

"Not even a cheeseburger?"

As though that information changed everything, Tony grabbed the box and sniffed it. A smile threatened the corners of his mouth as Steve confirmed,

"Well done, no pickles."

Tony looked worriedly over at the board of directors and sighed.

"I'm still mad at you, but this is a good start."

Steve stepped forward to close the distance between them.

"I am sorry, Tony. I told you that I wouldn't leave unless you asked me to, so this is me not leaving."

"Technically you already left, so this is more like you un-leaving."

"Whatever you want to call it, I was wrong. Not that you made things easy—"

"Mmm, I sense this apology is going downhill."

"—but I honor my contracts."

Tony bit down on his lip and said, "Look, Rogers, I told you I would tear it up. I won't pull you into my life and force you to stay. Hell, most of the time _I_ don't want to stay in it. If this cheeseburger is a contractual obligation, you and your perfect teeth can go find a more sensible date in Brooklyn."

Steve shifted awkwardly on his feet, conscious of the high-power executives trying to glare holes through the glass. He also knew this conversation was not about the cheeseburger.

"I want to help you."

"Why?" Tony spat. "Why the hell would you want to help me?"

There it was again, the same question he asked on their first "date." _Why_? Steve had heard that question too many times over the past few days, and he rarely had an answer. He tried to phrase it in a way Tony would not only understand, but in a way that would get him to believe the words Steve was about to say.

"Because I like you. I'll admit I am bored off my ass and you are the most interesting thing to happen to me in God only knows how long. But in the three days people have begun to associate me with you, they tell me things."

Tony insisted, "Most of them probably aren't true."

"Not about you, Tony, they speak to me about their lives. About how you make them feel. I had one kid tell me you were his hero because you have enough energy in one idea to empower thousands of others. People take pride in you because there is something special about you, and I don't know what it is but I know damn well that Stark Industries won't survive without it."

Steve looked at Tony and saw someone who had built a wall around his life and only allowed the world to peek at what he wanted them to see. Tony sighed and ran a hand across his face.

"Alright, but we need to talk about _this_," he gestured to the space between them, "after I beg those assholes to keep the company with my name on it."

"Do what you need to do, and I'll wait."

"I'm only doing this because you brought me a cheeseburger."

"Sure."

"I want it established here and now that you are begging me to take you back."

"Yes, please," Steve said in the most bored tone he could muster. "O wise one, please take me back."

"If you insist."

Steve laughed and glanced over at the executives mumbling around the table. Even the ones seated with their backs to the interior wall had turned around to watch. Steve smiled.

"Those are the people who want to take your company away?"

Tony nodded and Steve put his hand on Tony's neck. It was different from how he touched Bucky; it was freer, _better_. Tony's eyes got very wide as Steve ran a thumb along the edge of his jaw.

"I have no idea what I'm doing."

Without looking away, Tony said, "Making everyone in there very uncomfortable is what you're doing."

"Then I guess I'm doing my job."

Steve kissed him before Tony could reply. He pulled Tony closer by the nape of his neck and his eyes fell shut for the briefest moment as Tony melted against him. It felt good, felt _right_ even. He pulled away and smiled as Tony instinctively pressed forward for more. Steve kissed him again, quickly, before nodding toward the conference room.

"You better get back in there."

Tony shook his head and insisted, "I'm good right here."

Steve laughed as he started to pull away, but Tony had his fingers through one of Steve's belt loops.

"Your burger will be cold."

"Are they staring?"

Steve glanced over and confirmed, "Yes, they are all staring at us. The man holding the remote looks like he's about to vomit."

"Good."

Tony grinned up at Steve, whose heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

"You really should ..."

"Yes," Tony untangled himself from Steve's pants, "I should." He turned away and opened the door to the conference room.

"Hey, Tony?"

He paused and looked over his shoulder, halfway through the door. Steve swallowed thickly and said,

"I really am sorry."

"I know, soldier." Tony's smile softened as he repeated, "I know."

* * *

_A/N: My thought process for this chapter was basically, "Which Avenger would I trust to listen to my problems and have good advice on how to look at life in a less shitty way?" Please, Disney+, give us the Thorapy show we deserve._


	6. Chapter 6: I Wanna Hold Your Hand

_A/N: Apologies for any mistakes. TW for references to suicidal ideation and homophobic language._

* * *

Steve let out a very undignified moan after the first bite of his cheeseburger.

It was a little cool, but he hadn't eaten much over the past few days and it tasted glorious. He ate at the bar and washed every few bites down with a sip of water. When finished, he opened one of the bottom cabinets to find the trash can. But as he tossed away his mess, the recycling bin caught his eye. It was filled by three very expensive-looking bottles of alcohol. The familiar pit in Steve's stomach threatened to open up again, the one Thor had christened, "Guilt."

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"When was the recycling emptied?"

"Tuesday morning."

Not even Jarvis's unfeeling voice could soften the blow. Tuesday morning meant all this transpired since Tuesday afternoon. It didn't take Tony Stark's intellect to determine what brought this on. Steve croaked out,

"Are there more?"

"Apologies, Captain, but—"

"In the workshop?" he guessed. "Are there more?"

"I am not permitted to reveal information about Mr. Stark's actions."

If Steve didn't know better, he'd say Jarvis sounded defensive. But he knew he shouldn't feel guilty about this. He hardly knew Tony Stark, how could this be his fault?

Because he left.

Steve made his way to the couch and plopped down heavily. He stared at the coffee table and numbed his thoughts until the elevator dinged open a half hour later. Tony walked through the doors with a massive smile on his face and jumped down all three steps to get to the couch. He sat next to Steve and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"You, soldier, are amazing!" Tony grinned even harder and fell back onto the cushions. "That little stunt back there has changed the entire outlook on my probation."

"How's that?" Steve asked without moving his eyes from the coffee table.

"They were expecting either subterfuge or abstinence and never considered I might find a boyfriend. So now it is us against them, a war via the press. If we look like a real couple, breaking barriers, you know that sort of thing, we win."

"We?"

"We are a team now, aren't we?"

"Sure, Tony."

He sat up and frowned.

"What happened? Forty minutes ago you were ready to make out with me in front of the board of directors and now you can't even look at me."

"When Miss Potts said you have a drinking problem," Steve hesitated for a moment, "she didn't mean you like to go out and drink. She was trying to tell me you're an alcoholic."

"Oh." Tony sank further back into the cushion. He didn't say anything for awhile, and when he finally spoke all he said was, "Yeah."

"Is that why people leave?"

"Hah," Tony laughed, "I wish there was one thing I could blame it on. The alcohol doesn't usually come out in bulk until after they leave. I'm just not ... I'm not good at this."

Steve turned to look at him, but Tony continued to stare straight ahead into nothing.

"Why did you choose a man for this?"

The corner of Tony's mouth quirked up as he said, "I knew it'd piss them off."

"So you're not ..." Steve didn't have the words to finish the question so he rephrased. "In the past few days I've only heard about women. Never any men."

"I assume someone shoved the _Vanity Fair_ article at you."

"I bought it."

"Oh, God, where the hell is my wallet? What do I owe you, eight dollars?"

Steve smiled.

"I didn't believe most of it, but ..."

"First off, all those women were from a New Year's Eve party. I couldn't tell you what we did because, well ... I am in this situation for a reason. While they're real shit for doing it, the board isn't wrong that I have problems. Not that they care _why_ I have those problems, only that I pull myself together."

"And I am the stable, put-together image you want to project."

"Sure, but my sexuality is an open secret, Steve."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that everyone knows and no one talks about it. No one tries to reveal it because it could cost me my life. I used to sell weapons in countries where being gay will get you killed. Now I am trying to sell those same countries renewable energy technology. Coming out would have ruined my ability to run my company."

Steve wondered, "Then why are you doing it now?"

"Because I'm tired of hiding my problems. And this," he gestured to Steve again, "isn't a problem."

"Not even sure what _this_ is," Steve countered.

"You're my boyfriend."

"For the cameras."

Tony's mouth formed a thin line.

"Right. For the cameras."

Steve laughed and said, "Sorry, that came out wrong. If you're under the impression I didn't enjoy kissing you then you're out of your goddamn mind."

"Lots of people enjoy that part."

"My point, Tony, is that I'd like to be your boyfriend. I'd like to take you on dates and see where it goes, but we don't have that luxury. We have to make this last. What if we are together and it doesn't make it that far?"

"No one makes it that far." Tony smiled then and admitted, "Nobody ever comes back after they leave, either."

"I can do this, be the public boyfriend you need me to be. But you will have to get used to me being a bit scared of all this."

"The cameras?"

"Being a symbol," Steve said. "I don't want to be the gay soldier—"

"You're not gay."

"I know that and you know that, but to most people there isn't a difference. For thirty years I've been Steve; I've been Captain Rogers for more than a decade. Part of me is terrified to put that aside to make 'Tony Stark's boyfriend' the headline of my obituary."

Tony sucked a breath in through his teeth.

"I don't know you well, but I doubt being my boyfriend is the most impressive thing you've ever done."

"That's classified," Steve teased.

"Yes!" Tony shouted, seizing on an opportunity to change the subject. He leapt up from the couch and made for the elevator. "Come on, loser, we're going shopping!"

Steve frowned.

"What's with the name?"

Tony rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Pop culture reference. When was the last time you watched a movie?"

Steve shrugged.

"Never had much time for them."

Tony paused and frowned, staring at Steve like he saw something new. Were movies really that important? Steve was overcome by embarrassment, like he had missed an integral part of life. Tony kept staring.

"You weren't kidding when you said you were bored off your ass. How long were you in the army, again?"

"Twelve years."

"Right, you got maybe four weeks a year to come home?"

Steve nodded and said, "Something like that."

"So of the past twelve years, you've spent less than one year in Brooklyn."

God, it was depressing when he put it like that. Tony's face morphed into something resembling pity and Steve hated it. His stomach twisted and shrank as Tony continued to ramble on about Steve's life.

"What did you do when you came home?"

"Buck and I—"

"That's it, isn't it?" Tony asked. He leaned against the wall by the elevator, speaking as though he'd already played the conversation out in his head. "You were always with him, weren't you? Probably coordinated your vacation time so you could come home together. When you left the army, you didn't come back to Brooklyn because it's home, did you? You came back because it was the only piece you had left of Barnes."

Steve shrugged and let out a resigned, "Yeah."

"You're alone. I thought my circle was small, but you don't have a Happy or a Pepper or a Rhodey."

Steve gave him a wan smile and said, "But now I've got you."

"Yes!" Tony pushed himself off the wall and pressed the elevator button. "And I am going to take you out for an afternoon on the town. Show you New York as you've never seen it before."

"You said shopping."

Tony noted the disgusted tone of Steve's voice and raised an amused eyebrow.

"If you plan to be my boyfriend, Cap, you can't keep wearing those too-small military t-shirts you buy at Baby Gap. It's distracting. One day I'll be staring at your shoulder-to-waist ratio and walk into oncoming traffic."

Steve chuckled.

"I'm serious," Tony said, in a voice implying he was very much not. "What is the nicest thing you own?"

"Hey, I'll have you know I own a cashmere sweater."

"When did you buy it, 1943?"

"2008."

"Might as well have been '43! Think of this as your first step into civilian life."

Steve winced.

"I, um, I'm not sure I am ready to make that leap."

"It's not a leap, Steve, it's clothes. You're dipping one toe in the water."

"It doesn't matter, I can't afford it." Steve said, "You haven't paid me yet," then considered the matter over and done with.

"Today it's all on me."

"This is a good faith agreement, Tony. I'm not a whore and you are not my sugar daddy."

"That is one of the perks of this gig, soldier." Tony winked and Steve's heart skipped a beat. "Cameras or no cameras, I am one hundred percent your sugar daddy."

_Ding!_

**.oOo.**

Steve got the feeling Tony enjoyed spending money on him far more than Steve liked it himself. They walked out the front door and there weren't any cameras around. A few people pulled out their cell phones but nothing like the professional variety of their first two dates. As if reading his mind, Tony said,

"Pep calls the paparazzi assholes to let them know we'll be going out. It ensures the magazines have high-resolution photos to print. But this little excursion was not planned so," he smiled, "no paps."

Steve had no idea where they were going. They stopped at the first crosswalk and Tony took his hand to twine their fingers together.

"I could get used to this."

"To a dozen people not-surreptitiously recording us on their," his voice rose dramatically in decibel, "LOW-GRADE NON-STARKTECH SHITTY ASS PHONES?"

"I could get used to holding your hand."

Steve looked down at Tony to see actual hearts in his eyes. He smiled as the light changed and they made their way across the street.

"It's rude to make me fall in love with you so fast," Tony quipped. "You're a walking Hallmark movie."

Steve grumbled, "Apparently I have a lot to catch up on in the film department."

"They're just boring, seemingly-innocent too-good-to-be-real fluff movies."

"Well as I am not innocent and my life has been anything but fluff, you may reconsider that assessment."

"Why did you leave the army?"

Oh, fuck, this was not the place for that conversation. Or was it? Was there any proper place to speak about what he'd done?

"You said your superiors forced you into retirement because of your impulsivity, but then I was an asshole and you left and ..."

"I remember." Steve ran his thumb along the side of Tony's palm. "The short answer is that an op went very, very wrong."

"The long answer?"

They went through two more lights in companionable silence. There were no more people with cell phone cameras pointed in their direction, the novelty having worn off a block earlier.

"After Bucky died I was transitioned out of the Howling Commandos. Just looking at everybody's faces ... I was treated like a widow. They shifted me to the 10th Mountain Division, fuckin' Siberia is what it was. Ragtag bunch wasn't prepared for shit, worst readiness score in the whole goddamn branch. That was 2009, so I spent a year working to increase their preparedness before they gave me a company to captain again."

"And then your op went wrong."

Steve groaned.

"We were in a place that was very, very cold. It was mostly a recon mission, just me and ten others. We came to a lake that had frozen over. The smart thing would have been to walk around it, but that would have added a full day to our jaunt and I didn't want to be there a single minute longer than we had to be."

"Oh, Steve, you didn't ..."

"I did," he confirmed. "I went first, testing the ice as we crossed. About a third of the way through, it cracked behind me and swallowed four of my men."

"You still carry the guilt from their lives then, too, do you?"

"The hell are you talking about, Stark? I pulled them all out."

"Why would you retire if you got everyone out?"

Steve swallowed thickly and admitted, "I almost didn't make it out, myself. The water was so, so cold. Freezing cold. The sorta cold that hits your bones before your skin. By the time I pushed the fourth one to the surface, I just sorta fell back ... Shed my jacket, but I still struggled to get out. Then I lost my place by the opening. I couldn't find it again, couldn't see for shit, and I was so fucking cold. At some point, I gave up. I didn't fight it anymore and stayed there. I passed out and thought I was dead until I woke up on the shore."

"Okay," was all Tony said for two blocks. He kept processing it and repeated, "Okay."

Eventually, Steve had enough of the quiet.

"My superiors claimed I was a suicide risk from PTSD. That was the official assessment in November of last year, and they all knew it was bullshit. I wasn't suicidal, I was reckless. _Fearless_. My only fear was being sent home and DADT had prevented them from sending me to the sort of therapy I needed."

"They couldn't treat you like a widower because they couldn't confirm what they already knew," Tony realized. "That's ... That's a lot, Steve."

"You asked why they pushed me out. I went out because, as one of the majors said, they didn't want 'that fucking queer getting proper men killed because his dick buddy died before he could get some.'"

"They said that to you?!"

"Oh, they said a lot more."

"Why didn't you fight it?"

"Because I wasn't just putting myself in danger, Tony; I put other people in harm's way. I wasn't thinking clearly anymore, and I will never lead people unless I am capable of doing it. It became clear I could no longer serve the army in that capacity and I'm not gonna sit at a desk. They agreed to give me an honorable discharge if I left quietly."

Tony stopped in the middle of the street then pulled Steve over to the edge of the sidewalk. He raised his hand and Steve asked,

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Hailing a cab."

"Why?"

"Slight change in plans."

**.oOo.**

They stepped out of the cab in front of a movie theatre Steve wouldn't have known was there. It was nothing more than a ticket booth with a small sign of movies and showtimes. Tony walked right up and said,

"Two for _Roman Holiday_."

Steve allowed himself to be led into the theatre, which was surprisingly modern on the inside; all sleek lines and chrome finishings. Definitely the sort of place Tony Stark would hide out. Once they had taken their seats and ordered more popcorn than Steve thought anyone could eat, he asked,

"Why are we here?'

"It's a date, Steve."

"But no one knows we're here."

Tony sighed and nodded, as though Steve was a lost puppy unable to navigate the world on his own.

"You deserve one real date, Cap. Just one where I get to take you to the movies and throw popcorn at you when I'm bored. One date where I get to be me for you, and you get to be you for me. So we will sit here in these nasty chairs with overly-buttered popcorn and have a good time."

"Okay."

Steve stared at the screen and watched the advertisements pass by. He felt Tony's hand on his chest and allowed himself to be pushed backward in the chair.

"Slouching is a must in the theatre."

"Yessir," Steve replied with a mock salute.

They were quiet until the waitress arrived with their popcorn and sodas. Tony grabbed the bucket and said,

"This place has the best popcorn in the city."

"Is that why you chose this theatre?"

"No, I chose this because there is something pure about this movie." He turned to face Steve with a self-conscious look on his face. "If you ever tell Rhodey I took you to see an old movie I swear I will murder you, contract be damned. I will never hear the end of it."

"Who is this Rhodey person I keep hearing about? I've met Miss Potts and Mr. Hogan, but never Rhodey."

Tony smiled.

"He's my best friend."

"Oh."

"Colonel Rhodes, Air Force. We met at MIT and he's stuck by me ever since." Tony's expression darkened as he added, "The only one."

The theatre darkened and the movie started up after a few ads for smaller, indie movies. There were about six people in the theatre, but he and Tony had a small corner to themselves. Tony never relinquished his hold on the popcorn bucket nestled between his thighs. Steve was about to ask for some when Tony picked up his massive Coke. After he sipped it, he placed the cup back on the table and let his forearm rest absentmindedly on the armrest between them. Right about the time Gregory Peck led Audrey Hepburn upstairs, Steve pressed his palm against Tony's. He curled his fingers up to grip Steve's hand and it was nice. It wasn't groundbreaking or monumental, it simply made Steve conscious of Tony's presence. He felt Tony's pulse spike when he laughed and it rose again at the jump scare. By the time the credits rolled, Steve understood why Tony chose this one. It was lighthearted fluff about someone who had spent far too long hiding from the world.

_Pure._

Tony smiled over at Steve and pressed a lazy kiss to the back of his hand.

"This was nice. I'll take you shopping another day."

"Maybe I'll call in sick."

Tony bit down on his bottom lip before asking, "Stay over tonight?"

"I did leave pajamas at your place."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Great. Fantastic. Did you like the movie?"

"I did."

"I should have made this our first date," Tony said. "Maybe it would have been different and you would have wanted to make this real."

"Oh, Tony, this is the most real anything has felt in months. Don't say you want to change it just because we are a bit rough around the edges."

His eyes were so wide and vulnerable when he spoke again that Steve nearly said to hell with it all.

"I want to feel like this at the end of all our dates. You smiling at me, holding my hand, promising to stay over ... Is there any chance we could be this couple behind closed doors?"

"I would like that," Steve admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you have to give me time. I can't throw myself into something like this. I am terrified of loving someone ever again. Losing Bucky cost me almost everything, and I don't know if I have it in me to give you what's left."

"You have so much more to offer than you know," Tony insisted. "But if this is what you want, I'm going to spend this time proving I am worth it."

Steve grinned over at him and thought that, perhaps, this wasn't as shitty of an idea as he thought it was on Monday.

"As long as you always let me hold your hand, Tony, I'll be fine wherever we end up."


	7. Chapter 7: I Am Not Fragile

_A/N: Apologies for taking so long to update. Life happens. Funerals happen. Pandemics happen. Lots of fun cameos in this chapter._

* * *

Tony's guest room was larger than Steve's apartment.

"Down the hall, last door on the right."

Steve opened the door to reveal more space than he'd ever had to himself. His duffel bag was on the end of the king-sized bed pressed against the far wall. It was nice, but almost too nice. It had been professionally decorated and looked as though it was rarely used. The room was impersonal.

He stepped inside and took it all in. He was really doing this. A nice date with his billionaire not-boyfriend that ended with him spending the night in his not-boyfriend's penthouse at the top of his not-boyfriend's skyscraper. Nat would give him shit about this for the rest of his life.

Any negative thoughts about his not-feelings for Tony were pushed aside the moment Steve opened the bathroom door. Again, a room without personality but a bathtub that looked to be over six feet long. He'd intended to take a shower to wash off the day, but he hadn't taken a bath in God only knew how long. (Truth be told, he knew exactly how long because in late 2008 he took Peggy to a place up in Norway to see the Northern Lights. Their cabin had a massive sunken tub and suffice it to say that was the best bath Steve ever had.)

He didn't need to think twice about this change in plans. Steve turned the handles to about as hot as he could bear and closed the drain. He ran to grab the duffel from the bedroom and tossed it onto the counter by the sink. He pulled his shirt over his head, then his pants and underwear came off in one quick motion. Steve was so excited he nearly tripped out of his pants before stepping into the tub.

The water was an inch deep when he sank into the bathtub. He leaned against one end, his neck resting on a pillow attached to the lip of the tub. Whoever decorated these rooms thought of everything. Steve stretched his legs out and there were still a few inches between his toes and the end of the tub. He smiled; luxury was in the small things.

Steve closed his eyes and let his arms rest on the edges of the tub. As the water rose, he listened to the sound of water pouring from the faucet. The steadiness numbed him and he sank a bit deeper into the warmth as the water rose to the top of his thighs. All the tension of the past few months began to ebb.

You don't want to move on.

He bounced those words around in his mind because they were true. Steve didn't want to leave Bucky in the past, didn't want to forget their friendship like it meant nothing. Even though they couldn't be together, their friendship had been the most important, most real thing in Steve's life. But his ma said,

"In order to grow, you must let go of the past."

And wasn't that the problem? Steve was stuck at an uncomfortable point in life because Bucky was everywhere. He was in the army, he was in Brooklyn, he was in the fucking diner, in Steve's closet, on Facebook ... But how much was Steve meant to let go? What was the difference between moving on and forgetting?

Steve opened his eyes and used his foot to turn both handles off. He stared at the ceiling and wondered whether he would ever be able to let go of Bucky entirely. There wasn't technically anything to hold onto, just a bunch of question marks and maybes. Might-have-beens. Steve sighed and closed his eyes again, hoping to forget about it all for just one moment.

.oOo.

There was something wrong with the mattress.

Steve flipped onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow, but the pillow formed a too-soft cushion around him. He tossed and turned for a minute before landing on his right side. He closed his eyes, but laying there felt like falling through a cloud. Cloud after cloud, but he never hit the ground. It never stopped.

Steve sat up, groaned, then grumbled a quick, "Fuck." He tossed the duvet cover onto the floor and began tugging the sheet (with an unholy thread count) off the bed. He wadded it up and tossed it on the ground. Steve grabbed the top of the duvet, wrapped it around his shoulders, and made himself a cocoon.

The floor felt more like what he was used to. The army's mattresses were only slightly more comfortable than sleeping on rocks. Sometimes Steve preferred rocks because they didn't sound like plastic whenever he moved half an inch. He used the wadded-up sheet as a pillow and nestled into the duvet. The floor was firm beneath his back and Steve fell asleep within seconds.

.oOo.

Steve felt amazing when he woke the following morning. He sat up, popped his joints, stretched, and jumped out of his skin when he looked at the clock.

10:00.

Steve hadn't slept until ten in months, and that was aided by heavy medication. He leapt up from the floor and grabbed his phone. Two missed calls from Sam and a voicemail from an unknown number. Steve wiped the crust from his eyes and pressed play.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers. My name is Jennifer Walters and I am a culture reporter for the Times focused on police and military issues. A mutual friend gave me your number, and if you'd like to give an interview about what life is like now that you've left the army and are dating one of the most famous men in the world—Oh! Darn, I don't think I should have brought that up. Well, anyway, if you ever need a reporter with a friendly ear, give me a call at ..."

Sam.

Steve rolled his eyes and meandered into the bathroom. He tossed his phone into the duffel bag and fished around for his toothbrush with no intent to call back. A week ago only three people on the planet had his phone number: Sam, Nat, and Dr. Odinson. Suddnely there was Mr. Hogan, Miss Potts, presumably Tony, and now Jennifer Walters. He was watching his right to privacy disintegrate in slow motion.

He pulled on the same clothes he wore the day before, fully prepped for the walk of shame. Steve wasn't ashamed of it, though; he and Tony hadn't done anything except go down to the workshop. Steve spent those hours drawing random things he found on Tony's desk, while Tony worked on whatever it was with holograms and power tools. But even if they had done something, if they had been intimate, Steve did not believe he would be ashamed. There was a lot left to unravel, but Steve was fairly certain Tony Stark had good intentions at his core.

The man himself was in the kitchen, huddled over the stove with a recipe projected from a StarkPad. Steve smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Good morning, Stark."

He grumbled back, "Rogers." Well someone got up on the wrong side of the bed. Come to think of it ...

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you go to sleep after I left the workshop?"

He shrugged and Steve jumped a few inches when Jarvis answered.

"Mr. Stark took a thirty-minute nap at three o'clock this morning, Captain Rogers."

"Traitor."

Steve only smiled. If Jarvis was on his side the morning would be a lot easier. Tony turned around and Steve grimaced at his appearance. There were purple circles under Tony's eyes, scruff around the edges of his goatee, and a sizable hole in the sleeve of his shirt that looked like something hot burned through it.

"It's my morning after look," he teased. "Bringing sexy back, I know. Did you enjoy the room?"

Steve nodded.

"I may never leave your bathtub again. The water pressure at such a high elevation—"

Tony cut him off with a laugh.

"Of everything I can give you, of course you would be most impressed by the water pressure. Anyway, I was thinking that tomorrow—"

"Can't."

Tony turned back toward the stove and opened the cutlery drawer.

"You can't what?"

"I have my VA therapy on Saturdays. After those meetings I'm not much for talking. Or walking. Or doing much of anything."

Tony glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

"Are they so bad?"

"They're great," Steve insisted, "but it takes a lot of energy to share things about my life. I kept so much of it quiet for so long, I spend half the meetings reminding myself it's okay now."

Tony didn't do anything, just kept looking at Steve like he understood. It was almost comforting.

"There is an event on Sunday Pep wants us to attend. Our official 'coming out,' in more ways than one."

"Okay," Steve agreed, stifling a yawn. "What time do I need to be here?"

"We leave at six, so probably three."

"Three?!" Steve half-shouted. "Getting ready takes three hours?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Tony snapped. He grabbed a towel from the counter and pulled it taut between his fists as he turned around.

Whoa. Steve's instinct was to shout back at him, but something was off. Tony's anger had always come out of nowhere but it was accompanied by a hint of exasperation. Like he was more tired than he was angry. This was different; this was spiteful. Steve took a deep breath to get himself under control before he answered,

"Tony, we are not doing this. If you're having a bad morning you do not take it out on me."

He threw the towel down on the countertop and said, "Pep is pleased some of the cell phone footage of us last night is making the rounds online. Magazines picked up some still photos of us at the theater."

Steve realized, "There it is."

"What?"

"That's the real reason you're angry. You wanted a date free of cameras and people got pictures anyway."

"Yes, they did!" Tony threw his hands in the air. "If we're gonna do this, I want you to feel safe. I want you to feel like there are moments of my life that aren't lived for cameras and board members and ... I don't like using people, Steve. I hate it. I can't control any of this and I'm pissed, I'm tired, and I haven't had a drink today."

"Okay."

"So I made you an omelette." Tony slid a plate and silverware across the counter. "It took three hours."

Steve cautiously poked at the omelette with a fork.

"Three hours?"

"There were a couple botched attempts."

"Eleven failed attempts, sir."

Steve jumped a bit as the robotic English voice sounded throughout the room. He doubted he would get used to that.

"Thanks again, J. Remind me to rewire your programming later."

Steve shook his head and laughed. There was a minute of awkward silence as Steve sliced into the omelette. Tony stared at what must have been a very interesting spot on the countertop but the omelette was delicious, far better than Steve could have made for himself. Halfway finished, he put the fork down and told Tony,

"You're not using me."

"There's a contract, Steve. I am literally using you to keep my company."

"But I signed. You are paying me an absurd amount of money and making me breakfast. I don't care about people taking my picture. I don't care about people taking my picture when I'm standing next to you, either."

"It isn't just about the cameras, it is about what people choose to see in the photos. It is about what they say after looking at us together."

Steve frowned.

"The press says awful things about you all the time."

"Well it's not just me. I don't care what they say about me, there's nothing they haven't said about me, I care what they say about you."

"Oh."

Tony tapped his knuckles against the countertop.

"I have lost people I care about. If you are going to stay with me, if you are going to help me, then I have to make this worth it. Five days in and I'm already failing miserably."

"I don't see the point. Do you think a couple bad headlines will be enough to make me leave, Tony?"

"No—"

"Because I am not fragile."

"I know; you could break me in half like a toothpick. But you cannot understand the power the media has, how bad they can make you look if you even cough in the wrong direction."

Steve admitted, "I sneezed on a general once."

Tony laughed. An honest-to-God, bent at the waist, guffaw kind of laugh that Steve didn't think he was capable of. Tony wiped his eyes and sighed like that was exactly the levity he needed.

"Truly, Tony, I am not worried. I've faced bigger enemies than the New York Post." He stood up from his chair at the island. "But I should probably go since I need clean clothes."

"I'll walk you out."

As they made their way over to the elevator, Steve asked, "Are you being a gentleman or do you plan to pull something for the cameras?"

Tony grinned.

"A little bit of both."

But all he did was open the cab door and stand on his toes to give Steve a light kiss on the cheek. It was a nice way to end the morning, and Steve refused to acknowledge his stomach was rapidly beginning to feel like a butterfly garden.

"I'll see you on Sunday, then?"

"You might see me before then." Tony winked.

He shut the door before Steve could ask what he meant by that.

.oOo.

Dr. Odinson referred to the VA sessions as "psychodynamic groups." Steve would quickly come to understand it was a polite way to say "taking things slow." Their group met in Brooklyn every Saturday, nine of them working through life as a civilian with PTSD. Steve sat with his back ramrod-straight, arms crossed, hands balled into fists at his side while Commander Hill discussed the progress she'd made during the week. Then he empathised when she admitted it didn't feel like enough.

Dr. Madani nodded then asked, "Who else would like to share?"

Steve took a deep breath.

"I'll go."

"You've had a hell of a week," Ross added. "Saw you all over TMZ."

Steve grimaced and agreed, "I have been so bored the past three months. Brooklyn is all I have left of Bucky, but I see him everywhere. Then I met a man who is almost as lonely as I am and jumped in headfirst. I thought this is my guy, this is the guy who is going to help me get over Bucky. Then he called me out, said I don't actually want to move on. Which isn't true ... Except that it is." Steve ran a hand over his face and groaned. "I don't know."

"But you do know, don't you?"

Sif came from the same Nordic island as Thor. He referred to his friends as "Lady Sif and the Warriors Three." His exact words upon Steve revealing she was part of his group were, "Lady Sif was one of the top generals in all of Asgard. She will make you feel welcome, Steven." Thor did not mention that Sif might be able to kick his ass, but Steve figured that much out on his own. She couldn't have been a day older than thirty-two but Google told Steve absolutely nothing. Perhaps Nat would know.

"You have been walking around Brooklyn since you got back, trapped in your memories. The challenge, Captain Rogers, is not about finding the right person to move on. It's that you must figure out how to move on with this man without forgetting how your James made you feel."

"Huh." Steve nodded. "I guess you might be right."

He didn't say anything else, just allowed that thought to linger.

"Are you nervous about the publicity?" Ross asked.

"Tony warned me about it, even tried to get me to leave because of it. I am ashamed that I did, but I was lonely and Tony understands that. I went back to him because I want to make it work, but we are so different and I hardly know him."

"That's called dating, Captain," Agent Hill chimed in.

"Plus," Danvers playfully nudged him with her elbow, "to us, you're more famous than he is."

Steve laughed.

"Hopefully he never figures that out."

Dr. Madani smiled softly then asked each of them to establish a goal for the week. Some were smaller goals. Commander Hill wanted to take her son out to a restaurant and not be suspicious of anyone within thirty feet of their table. Ross was finally ready to get back on a plane. Not fly one, he insisted, but to sit on a commercial flight.

Then there were the bigger goals. Darcy Lewis was the only one of them who hadn't served. She was in a war zone working for a senator when the SUV in front of them hit an IED. This was the week she would finally get back on the subway after a year of walking eleven blocks to work. Major Danvers was finally going to ask her girlfriend to move to New York. She hoped Maria would move to the city with her daughter when the school year ended. Then it was Steve's turn ...

He didn't know what to say. Keep up the facade that I am dating a billionaire? Keep reminding myself that I am not actually dating Tony Stark, no matter how much I like him? Just survive the week? Steve laced his fingers together and twirled his thumbs as he spoke.

"My goal for the week is to allow myself to consider what life can be like without the memory of Bucky clouding every moment."

They said their goodbyes, shook hands, and Steve hugged Carol because he was closest to her of everyone in the group. She had spent her entire time in the Air Force hiding, too, and with a steeper hill to climb.

He walked out of the room and toward the front door, asking Carol when she planned to speak to Maria. He gave her his cell phone number since his life wasn't Fort Knox anymore, and asked her to text. He held the door open for Carol then stopped when he noticed his boyfriend standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Tony?"

He hopped up the steps, kissed Steve on the cheek, and greeted him with,

"Hey, Captain Handsome. You said these are hard days, figured you could use some company. Lunch?"

"That sounds nice," Steve said, smiling. He nodded as he introduced Carol. "This is Major Danvers. Carol, this is Tony Stark."

She offered her hand and Tony took it.

"Nice to meet you."

"You too. I'm off to work, but Stark?"

"Major?"

Carol patted Steve on the shoulder and said, "Take care of this guy, alright?"

Steve blushed. Tony just smiled at her and insisted,

"I'll try my best, but he likes making it difficult."

Steve took Tony's hand and half-dragged him away from the conversation. Goodness only knew what they'd start sharing if he let them linger. They walked in silence for a minute before Steve asked,

"How did you know where to go?"

Tony laughed like Steve was asking a silly question. That ruffled him a bit. Everyone in Tony's world seemed to expect him to be alright with his life being available for them to flip through at their leisure.

"I'm serious, Tony. Are you having me watched or—"

"Someone took a photo of you on your way to therapy this morning and geotagged it. I found the closest VA center and assumed you'd be there. Not difficult."

Steve felt the color drain from his face as he processed that information.

"So your ... what? Your 'fans' are watching me?" He tightened his grip on Tony's hand. "They know where I live?"

"Still think I'm worth all this?"

Steve looked over at him and admitted, "For some reason, Tony, I do. But that is a lot to take in."

"Shit, I probably shouldn't have ... Right after your session ... You said it was hard and I just dropped that on you."

"I'll survive. Like I said, I'm not—"

"Fragile, I know, I know."

"And I need this."

"Not nearly as much as I need you. If I lose you and have to begin all over again, Steve, I'll just give up. I don't want to have to try again."

"I don't believe that."

"No?"

"You like a good fight almost as much as I do. You wanted a man for this job just to piss off the board members trying to steal the company from under you. You escaped one of the largest terrorist organizations in the world and you expect me to believe you'd just roll over and let other people take control of Stark Industries? I mighta gotten hit in the head a few times, but I'm not that stupid, Tony."

He sighed a resigned, "Maybe I do enjoy a bit of a fight."

"The one thing we know for certain is that we're in this fight together."

"What if we lose?"

"Then we'll do that together, too."

* * *

_A/N: I hope to update soon. Thanks for reading, peeps! Stay happy and healthy!_


	8. Chapter 8: Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

_A/N: I can't really do anything for y'all except to write fic, so I hope this makes you smile. Lots of sassy Steve and some sugar daddy Tony because I think we need some levity right now. This chapter has been very lightly edited._

_TW: homophobia_

* * *

Steve took the subway to Stark Tower on Sunday.

It was day seven of his fake relationship, but it seemed like twice as many. Tony was a lot of work and Steve doubted it would get easier any time soon. Heads turned as he walked through the lobby toward the elevator in the northeast corner. Steve paid them no mind and waited for Jarvis to open the doors.

Tony told him not to bring a suit. Steve smiled and chose not to mention he didn't even own a suit. Hell, he didn't even own a pair of slacks. Clothes were important to Tony, though, as it separated the different parts of him. When he was acting as President of Stark Industries he was the polished professional; shiny shoes, perfectly tailored suit, not a hair out of place. Press conferences and nights out saw Tony in button-downs and pants that were slightly less-fancy. But Steve's favourite had to be Tony in the workshop. Not because of the clothes, just because he looked happiest down there. He wore his 80s band t-shirts, grease-stained jeans, and his hair hung limply or fell onto his sweat-soaked forehead. The smiles Tony gave him in those moments were real.

Steve stepped into the elevator and said, "Hi, Jarvis."

"Good afternoon, Captain Rogers."

"How is Tony?"

"I am not permitted to—"

"Reveal Mr. Stark's actions to anyone except Miss Potts, Mr. Hogan, and Colonel Rhodes," Steve finished for him. "At least tell me, is this going to be a good day for him or a bad one?"

"History would indicate the latter, Captain."

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"Anything to assist, Captain Rogers."

The elevator doors opened to reveal carefully-controlled chaos in the main room. They were setting up for an event of some kind. Steve hiked the strap of his duffel bag further up on his shoulder and made his way over to Miss Potts.

"Good afternoon."

"Afternoon, Captain Rogers." She was more relaxed than Steve had seen her yet. As if reading his mind, she said, "Days like today are the reason I hired you. I trust him when he's with you."

"Why is that?"

Pepper Potts smiled and said, "Just a feeling." She directed him to Tony's bedroom, "Front of the hall on the left."

Steve found him there surrounded by at least five people. Perhaps six? They moved too quickly for him to tell. There was so much stuff spread out on the bed, even a makeshift makeup counter was set up off to one side.

"Steve!" Tony shouted. He hopped off the dais and flashed a brilliant smile. "You finally arrived, Cap. I missed you." His voice was much too sweet.

At that moment, Steve recognized these people were his first test. They all believed this relationship was real. Hell, they probably thought it was more than seven days old. Tony looked at him, silently begged him to convince them this relationship was legit. New strategy, then. He needed to improvise. Steve couldn't learn to act in the next fifteen seconds, but he could let his guard down. Perhaps tonight he could allow himself to like Tony the way he wanted to.

"Can't even go a day without me, Stark?" Steve pulled lightly on Tony's lapels then smoothed them out. He tilted his head down a bit to press his lips against Tony's cheek. "I missed you too."

"We could skip the whole thing." Tony wrapped his free arm around Steve's waist and pulled himself closer. "Just you, me, and some Mario Kart."

Steve laughed.

"Miss Potts would have my head." He looked up to see the five or six people had ceased all activity to stare at him. "Who are these people?"

Tony shrugged.

"What people?"

Steve wriggled free of his grasp and Tony sighed. He gestured toward their guests with a glass of what smelled like scotch.

"These people are here to help you get ready for tonight's benefit. They always take hours on me." He paused to sip from his glass. "Don't think they have nearly as much to do for you."

Steve smiled and introduced himself to everyone with a handshake and, "Nice to meet you, I'm Steve Rogers." His ma taught him people would be more helpful if he showed them respect, and Steve needed to trust these people. The last thing he wanted was to look like the toy soldier at Tony's side, shrinking into an ill-fitting suit.

"Alright!" The man Steve would eventually recognize as the team lead clapped his hands together and started to shout orders. "Makeup last. Hair, then suit, then shoes, then accoutrements."

Steve blanched and asked, "What the hell are you going to do to my hair?"

"Bring you out of the 1940s is what I'm gonna do," one of the technicians replied. There was humor in his tone so Steve relaxed a bit.

"Okay. I'll put my bag in my room and be right back."

Everyone paused.

"You sleep in separate rooms?"

Oh, shit. Steve turned to face Tony and silently mouthed, HELP!

Without missing a beat, Tony said, "Steve insists on separate bathrooms. He prefers the tub in the guest room. No joke, it has a neck pillow and potpourri I picked up during a lecture in France. Don't ask him about the water pressure, I promise you will regret it."

Steve took the opportunity to leave the room and take a deep breath. Tony followed him out and asked,

"How are you holding up?"

"I'll be okay. Thanks for the save, but what sort of event is this?"

"The New York Hall of Science is hosting a benefit to raise money for an interactive mathematics exhibit. Lots of mingling, hand shaking, and 'This is my boyfriend, Captain Steve Rogers.'"

Steve sat his duffel on the floor of the guest room and said, "Wait, you dragged me all the way out here to Manhattan just to take me to Queens? I could have met you there."

"No, you couldn't." Tony revealed, "We've got press to do."

"Oh."

Steve spent the next hour being tossed from one technician to another. He chose a blueberry-colored suit from their selection and a bright blue pullover to go underneath. It seemed casual but was made of the nicest fabric Steve had ever touched. Everything fit perfectly, but those sorts of moments in Tony's world no longer surprised him.

He shook that thought from his head and stepped into a pair of brown loafers. The stylist gave his hair more volume. No tie, but they did give him some nice cufflinks. Steve glimpsed himself in a mirror and thought he looked good. When he asked the makeup artist why she was packing up, she laughed.

"Do you paint over a Monet? Do you Photoshop a sunset? Mr. Stark only ever needs something to reduce shine and conceal the circles underneath his eyes. This is the easiest gig I get, and I can't fix gorgeous so I will leave you as you are."

The compliments in Tony's world were so strange. Steve thanked her just as Miss Potts poked her head through the door.

"We're ready for you." She gave Steve the once-over and grinned. "Well, Tony might not be."

If Steve thought the living area was chaotic before, it had since exploded. There was a photographer and lightboxes and at the center of it all was a very stoic Tony Stark. Steve sighed. It was going to be a long night.

"Tony!" he shouted. Steve held out his arms and slowly turned in a circle to give him the full view. "What do you think?"

He walked over and stuffed his hands in Steve's back pockets.

"I think Captain Handsome got an upgrade."

Steve laughed and wrapped his arms around Tony's shoulders to pull him close. Later he would lie and say he got caught up in the moment, but Steve knew exactly what he was doing when he gently kissed Tony on the forehead.

They were interrupted by a shutter click then a bright flash of light.

Steve squinted and shouted, "What the hell?!"

A reporter stepped forward to say, "We are documenting your evening for a feature in People magazine.

Steve groaned, "At least it's not Vanity Fair."

Tony giggled and Steve's heart melted. It was too easy to pretend with him, but wasn't this what he had been hired to do?

"If you'll permit it, we have a few questions. The article will be very short and this shouldn't take more than twenty minutes."

Tony led them all over to the couch, but the reporter pulled up an armchair. Tony bristled at the idea of someone making themselves at home in his penthouse and Steve shot him a look that said, Cool it, now. Then the reporter placed an iPhone on the table and Steve thought Tony might take it into the workshop and beat it with a sledgehammer before she pressed record.

"First question, how did you two meet?"

"Pep."

"Miss Potts."

Most of the questions were like that, softballs he and Tony did not need to think about. Steve only answered when asked a direct question, leaving most of the detailed work to Tony. Then there was,

"This last question is for Steve. What is it like dating a billionaire?"

The phrasing caught his attention, and not in a positive way.

"Tony is a lot more than that."

"Like what?"

Steve ran a hand through his hair and heard the stylist groan from halfway across the room.

"I haven't been with him long enough to know him like I oughta to answer that question. But I can say I like it when he laughs. I like that he loves old movies and if he's hungry he can stuff an entire slice of pizza in his mouth. I hate people taking my picture and being in the public eye, but it's a concession I am willing to make."

"Why?"

Steve shrugged.

"Coming home, leaving the service left me in a dark place. Then I met Tony and he understood my grief, made me feel less alone. Made me feel a lot of things I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a long time. His money has nothing to do with that, it's just who he is."

Tony frowned so hard a tiny eleven appeared between his eyebrows.

The reporter said, "That's not a perspective we often hear about Mr. Stark."

"Get used to it."

She laughed and said, "Thank you, gentlemen. We are done."

"Yes!" Tony leapt up from the couch and pumped his fist in the air. "Time for presents."

"Presents?" Steve asked, following Tony to the windows overlooking New York's skyline.

"What you said just now?" Tony kept his voice low. "That was real and I appreciate it more than you can know."

"I know that what I thought of you wasn't true," Steve replied. "People should get to see the side of you I have seen."

"Well the man the press writes about isn't exactly a lie. I sleep around, I'm an alcoholic, and at most times emotionally unavailable. The official assessment was compulsive behavior, prone to self-destructive tendencies, and textbook narcissism."

"Well have you ever lied to me, Tony?"

"No."

"Then the man I've gotten to know this week is the man you are, and they should know it."

Tony had to walk away. He paced for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose before coming to rest once again in front of Steve.

"No one has ever taken the time to say things like that about me. Now, this might read as me buying you off, and they'll print that after you said all those nice things I gave you a gift that's ... Well, it's extravagant but I don't have another way to show you how grateful I am that you came back."

Tony took Steve's left hand in his and slid a watch onto Steve's wrist. He folded the clasp shut then turned Steve's hand over so he could see the face. Steve glanced at it and all the breath left his body when he read "Rolex" at the top. Steve placed his hands on his knees and squinted his eyes shut, trying to process it. He took a slow breath, stood up, and said,

"I can't accept this."

"Why not? You deserve it for putting up with my bullshit, Steve. Plus it glows so when you go out for a run in the morning and it's still dark—"

Steve grabbed Tony's lapels and kissed him hard. He didn't have another way to say, Please don't make me fall any deeper than I already have, except to hold Tony as close as he could. Tony put one hand on the back of Steve's neck and allowed himself to be led. Steve broke away only to pull Tony tight against his chest.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to make it to the museum with all my ribs intact."

"Too bad."

"You planning to hug me all the way down to the car?"

Steve begrudgingly let him go and said, "Thank you, Tony."

"Date's not over yet," he sighed.

.oOo.

Tony said his life was insane. He told Steve what would happen when they stepped out of the limo and onto the red carpet, "More cameras than you've ever seen and too many questions you won't want to answer." But he was still surprised when he followed Tony out of the car and was blinded by flashbulbs. Steve could barely make out a few reporters through the din of voices.

"It's Tony!"

"Stark is here!"

"Who is your date, Mr. Stark?!"

Tony smiled and gave them all a wave before standing in front of a massive backdrop with the museum's logo plastered across it. Steve remained shell-shocked on the curb until Tony smiled and held out his hand, motioning for Steve to join him. Steve's feet led him there, though he didn't remember telling them to move.

"You terrified, yet?" Tony shouted.

Steve shook his head.

"No, I'm just trying to acclimate. This is ... harder than I thought it would be."

"Just stay by me and you'll be fine."

Steve smiled for the cameras and wrapped his arm around Tony's waist. His worry wasn't truly about the press. He spent his first nine years in the army convinced the sky would come crashing down if he so much as looked at Bucky the wrong way. The subsequent three years were spent hiding his grief, the anger at himself for losing what might have been. Steve spent his entire life hiding the fact that he liked men, and there he was showing it to the world.

He was waiting for the sky to fall.

"Tony, who's your date?"

Neither of them answered.

"Tony, is this your boyfriend?!"

"Tony, what's his name?"

"How long have you been together?!"

"What about Jennifer?"

Tony rolled his eyes and shouted, "That was one business meeting! I've shown more affection to robots."

Steve didn't feel the need to answer questions because Tony didn't. He just flashed a dazzling smile and tucked himself into Steve's side. He flashed a peace sign, smiled up at Steve, and his hand moved down the curve of Steve's spine to rest right at the top of his ass. If Steve leaned into it a bit, neither of them mentioned it. They turned toward each other upon request, then moved into different positions while Steve stared into the wall of light in front of him. It felt like a half hour, but it was only two minutes before the faceless photographers had enough shots of him at every angle.

Steve grumbled, "I'm surprised they didn't ask me to bend over."

Tony chuckled as they walked away.

"Night's young."

After a half hour of meandering around the museum Tony shouted, "BANNER!" at a man across the room. Tony tugged Steve over to where the dark-haired man appeared to be shrinking into the corner. The man—Banner?—shook Tony's hand with a warm, if hesitant, grin.

"Hey, Stark."

"How are things in the world of anti-electron collisions?"

Banner shrugged and adjusted his glasses as he said, "It's positive," which sent Tony into a fit of giggles. Steve didn't know what to do with himself, so he plastered a half-assed smile on his face and tried not to fidget in the loafers he hadn't broken in. There was a lot of science talk Steve didn't bother listening to, instead electing to observe what he could see of the party. Just as Tony said, it was all mingling and handshaking with uppity finger food.

"This is Steve."

He was hyperaware of Tony's touch. They were talking in front of people, holding hands in front of people, and Steve leaned into him when he extended a hand to Dr. Banner.

"I'm Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you."

"Bruce Banner."

It was too fucking weird. Tony smiled like he was sixteen and Steve's just agreed to take him to prom. Steve shouldn't have let it happen, he had let his guard down too far, but that smile made him feel something he hadn't felt since before he lost Bucky. Something he used to feel for Bucky.

"Nice to see Tony finally has someone else to hang out with at these things. He usually pulls me around to talk to people about ion fusion until they leave us alone."

Steve chuckled and admitted, "I don't understand much of it, but I do like watching him work. Watching things go from a bunch of blue holograms to scraps to a fully-formed prototype? It's art."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"He let you into the workshop? I thought that was off-limits."

The smile on Tony's face disappeared. He swallowed thickly and looked away, searching for a way out of this line of questioning. He grabbed Steve's hand, pulled him away and shouted,

"Sorry, I have to go show him off to some far less interesting people. Love you, Brucie!"

"You wanna tell me what that was about?" Steve whispered.

"Look, Bruce is great, though he has breathtaking anger management issues."

"That guy? Anger management?"

"He's a good friend and he hates these things almost as much as I do."

"I'm sorry for bringing up your workshop. I didn't ..." Steve paused and turned Tony so they were face-to-face. "It never occurred to me that it was your private space, but it should have."

"Cap, I'm all good. It's just ... Yeah, it's not like I let people in but you're in this for the long haul."

Steve paused.

"Are we still talking about—"

Tony patted him on the shoulder and said, "Sure we are. Now, come on, I have to introduce you to some assholes."

"Didn't realize it was that kinda party."

Tony laughed and everything settled back into their easy camaraderie. Steve allowed himself to be led over to a group of men who oozed the sort of overblown cockiness he'd often seen in men with more power than they were worth. Parting the circle was like walking into a wall of cologne and Steve backed away to wipe his eyes.

"Ah, Stark. Good to see you here," one of the men said with a tone that implied the opposite.

"Just making the rounds, you know," Tony said with an insincere smile. "It's a bit stuffy in here. Steve, this is Norman Osborn, Justin Hammer, Aldrich Killian, and Dr. Simon Gilbert."

"Don't try to get around it, Stark, this was just a presser for you." The skinny man in a pinstripe suit sipped from a half-empty glass. Hammer? No one had bothered to tell him there was a stain on his tie. "Dragging your latest fling in front of the cameras so they'll forget about the fact that you're about to lose the most important thing in your life."

"Hey, he is not a 'fling,'" Tony insisted, "he is my boyfriend."

"Thought he was your bodyguard," Killian countered.

"Regardless, it wouldn't be the first time Tony has whored himself around," Dr. Gilbert added. "This is the man he was about to fuck in the office hallway a few days ago. Though, I believe a bodyguard would be a new one to add to the list."

"If you think Tony would need my help to kick your ass," Steve said, "you have greatly misread the situation."

Everyone turned to look at him with some mixture of shock and contempt.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?"

"Captain Steve Rogers," he answered, hand outstretched.

Gilbert looked down at Steve's hand and laughed.

"Sorry, son, but I think I know where that's been."

Tony lunged forward, but Steve held him back with one arm until he calmed down. He refused to turn his back to Dr. Gilbert for fear he'd soon find a knife in it. Why the hell was that name so familiar?

"Take my advice, run as far away from this man as you can. He's already ruined his own life; don't let him drag you down, too."

"Dr. Simon Gilbert," Steve recognized. "Chairman of the Board. Yessir, I've heard about you."

"Oh, have you?"

"Yes." Steve smiled. "See, in the army we have a name for men like you. We call 'em planters."

"Planters?"

"Yessir, see, you should carry a tree wherever they go to support all the oxygen you're wasting."

Dr. Gilbert blubbered nonsense, "Well I will not stand for ... Fairy boy ... Insult ..." but Steve could only smile harder. He dropped his hold on Tony and patted Gilbert's shoulders.

"Men like you climb ladders by pulling other people down; I've seen it all before. You saw something that Tony's father built, a company Tony works every day to maintain by creating new things and you decided to take it. What have you ever built?"

No answer, only eyes wide with fear.

"You can try to take everything from him, and perhaps you'll succeed. But I promise there will never be a company with your name on it." Steve stepped away and took Tony's hand in his. "Have a nice night, gentlemen."

They walked toward the exit and Tony's grip was tight around Steve's fingers, but he didn't mind. Steve whispered,

"I had no idea what you were up against."

"What do you say, Captain? Are you with me for the long haul?"

"If I ever had any doubt, it disappeared somewhere between 'bodyguard' and 'fairy boy.'"

The moment they stepped into the limo to go home, a full ninety minutes earlier than anticipated, Tony hugged him.

"I will buy you fifty thousand Rolexes."

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony and held him for awhile. They were an awkward jumble of limbs on the backseat, but it was the most comfortable Steve had been since he came home.

* * *

_A/N: I hope y'all stay happy and healthy! ❤️_


	9. Chapter 9: Captain America

"Steve?"

He woke to a knock on the guest room door. It opened and Tony poked his head inside.

"Why are you on the floor?"

Steve closed his eyes and grumbled, "Bed's too soft."

"Can a bed be too soft?"

No answer.

"Can I come in?"

"It's your house," Steve said through a yawn.

"It's your room," Tony countered.

"Yes, you can come in."

He dragged a blanket behind him as he entered. Tony jumped onto the bed and began to fluff the pillows. He didn't say anything more. Steve watched as Tony huddled beneath a blanket and sank back into the pillows Steve couldn't stand. The silence between them was long and awkward.

"Why are you here?"

"What you did tonight was—"

"What you hired me to do," Steve finished.

"Right."

"I cannot believe how people speak to you."

"You get used to it after awhile. Hell, I am forty years into it, but a year from now I don't want you to be."

"Tony, I was in love with another male soldier. I was used to it a decade ago."

"But ten years ago you weren't kissing me and letting me grab your ass in front of cameras."

Steve laughed.

"You grabbing my ass is not a problem."

There was a long pause before Tony asked, "You mean that?"

"Of course I mean it. But you didn't hire me to like you, Tony, you hired me to be at your side for a full year."

"Yeah." Tony sighed heavily and turned his back to Steve.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You never answered my question. Why are you here?"

Tony flipped back around and sat cross-legged on the bed. He tugged at the blanket for a bit then folded it through his fingers as he answered.

"Why haven't you asked me about Afghanistan?"

Because the last time he mentioned Afghanistan they ended things on the spot. Or perhaps it was because Steve didn't want to feel any closer to Tony than he needed to be.

"It's not the sort of thing you ask about," Steve answered. "If you wanted to tell me, you'd tell me."

"I think I should tell you."

"Should you?" Steve asked.

"What do you know?"

"Nothing much. Ten Rings held you captive somewhere in the Hindu Kush. You were there about three months and made a weapon to escape. Anything else you want me to know?"

"I wasn't alone."

Steve couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice when he asked, "Someone was captured with you?"

"No, he was captured before me and the Ten Rings used him as a translator." Tony paused for a long time. So long that Steve thought he might've fallen asleep. "His name was Yinsen."

"He was your friend."

Tony slid off the edge of the bed onto the floor, and fell back like it'd taken everything he had just to reveal just this much.

"I would've been dead were it not for him. There are two pieces of shrapnel less than an inch away from my heart." Tony pulled off his t-shirt to reveal a black tank top, but something was off about it. There was a lump about the size of a fist in the center of Tony's chest, emanating a bright blue glow. He tucked his arms inside the tank and pulled it up to rest around his neck. The scarring around the circular ... whatever the hell was glowing in the middle of Tony's chest, was faint. Whomever cut into him knew what they were doing.

Steve could only muster a weak, "What the hell ... ?"

Tony grimaced. Steve didn't really know what to call it; the metal ring about four inches in diameter giving off a neon blue light.

"It's an arc reactor. Same thing that powers this tower and my house in Malibu, but smaller. There's a magnet in here that keeps the metal away from my heart. Yinsen helped me build it." Tony angrily pulled the undershirt down to cover it up again. "Sacrificed everything to help me."

"He didn't make it out?"

"He sacrificed himself to save me." Tony turned to look at Steve with sad, tired eyes. "I will not let anyone else give up their life for me."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"Isn't it?"

Steve rolled his eyes.

"My life here in New York wasn't worth much. I'd say you've already given me a hell of a lot more than I had when I got back. This is not a hardship for me. We're a team, we have a goal, and I am going to do something worthwhile for the first time in God only knows how long."

"You've given up your privacy," Tony countered. "A guy whose only internet presence is three friends and a fake name on Facebook? My guess is that meant something to you."

"It meant everything to me." Steve pressed himself up to lean back on his elbows. "But I've been hiding my entire goddamn life; I don't need to do it anymore."

Tony stared resolutely at the t-shirt between his hands. He began stretching out the neckline, but still said nothing for a long while.

He asked, "You know you don't have to hide from me, right?"

Steve sat up and twisted so they were face-to-face.

"I know. I trust you."

"No, you don't."

"Hey!" Steve shouted. "You don't get to tell me what I feel—"

"Sometimes I don't think you know," Tony replied. "But you're hiding something from me. Pep won't tell me, so it has to be big."

"Apologies," Steve spat, "that coming out to you, admitting my feelings for my dead best friend, and telling you why I left the service wasn't _personal_ enough for our first eight days together."

"Hey, High School Musical, you are the one who keeps saying 'we're a team' and 'we're in this together.' Teams, no, _friends _are honest with each other and I told you about Afghanistan, so you ..."

Steve fell back onto his pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

"I don't need to tell you everything; you're not my Thorapist."

"Thorapist?"

"You know what? Forget I said anything."

"Fine."

Steve rolled his eyes and Tony dragged himself back up onto the bed. He flipped over and smashed his face into his pillow. Steve sighed, but didn't say anything. Neither did Tony. The evening had gone rather well ... How had it ended up like this?

Would it always end up like this?

"Can I stay?"

Tony pulled Steve from his thoughts. He was surprised Tony thought to ask.

"Don't say 'It's your house,' because you are here for a year. This is your room and I'm ..." He trailed off like he didn't know what to say. "If it's okay, I want to stay."

Steve admitted, "Tonight was nice."

"Didn't answer my question."

"Did you think tonight was nice?"

"I like being around you," Tony admitted, "so yes, tonight was nice."

"Good then," Steve replied. "You can stay."

**.oOo.**

"Good morning, Sir!"

Jarvis's voice pulled Steve into consciousness. It took him a few moments and more than a little effort to pry his eyes open. Tony groaned from atop the bed.

"You have a visitor."

Tony grumbled something unintelligible, so Steve tugged on his arm. He swatted Steve's hand away, so Steve tugged on his pajama pants. He dodged the pillow Tony threw his way as Jarvis said,

"Colonel Rhodes is in the elevator."

Tony groaned, "Tell him to wait. My boyfr—Steve and I slept in."

"You plannin' to get up?" Steve asked.

Tony sat up and hopped off the bed before slowly trudging to the door. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sagged against it. He was sort of adorable like that, his hair sticking up in five different directions and his voice gravelly with sleep.

"I haven't had a good night's sleep in ..." Tony shook his head. "I can't remember."

Steve hesitated to ask, "Do you want me to meet him?"

"Rhodey?! Hell, yes! My best friend, my better half, my ... Wait, no, what if you like him more than you like me? Who wouldn't? Maybe you should hide here until something goes wrong, which is always, and the Air Force calls him back."

"Tony?"

"Steve."

"I'm always going to choose you."

"Because I hired you."

"Because I _like_ you," Steve countered.

"I know," Tony winked, "I just like hearing you say it."

Steve shot him a wan smile in lieu of a reply. He stood up and went through his routine of cracks and pops before saying, "Five minutes to brush my teeth and change."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

Tony was out the door before Steve could say, _Not that kind of captain. _

Steve had packed his oldest leather jacket and one of the t-shirts from his drawer, which he grabbed without looking, just prayed it didn't have a hole in the hem. The jacket was his father's, who died in the Persian Gulf when Steve was six. When he was little he'd sleep with it tucked beneath one arm. It fit Steve much better with the added years on his shoulders.

Steve glanced at himself in the mirror before brushing his teeth. He looked a bit less tense, and supposed that was a good thing. There were so many moments over the past ten years when he assumed he would end up like his father: a soldier dead from being in the right place at a bad time. But now? Now there was Tony Stark and his robots and his company.

He spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth. Almost everyone had told him to leave ... Everyone except Miss Potts. Of everyone in Tony's life, Steve felt she had his back more than anyone. She chose Steve, of all people, and he'd do right by it. The only remaining roadblock was convincing Rhodes. _Rhodey?_ What the hell was Steve meant to call him? _James_ was off the table.

Steve shook the thoughts from his head and told himself to act naturally. How had he done this with Peggy's family? Poorly, to be honest. He bumbled it all, couldn't even get the right words out. Peggy laughed it off and so did everyone else because it was a loving sort of nervous. Everything around Tony made him nervous, so it shouldn't be that much of a stretch.

He surveyed himself in the mirror like he was going to meet his boyfriend's family for the first time. Which, in a way, he was. Steve stuffed his feet into his sneakers, took a deep breath, and headed down the hallway before he could give it another thought.

Rhodes was speaking to Tony at the bar. In five minutes Stark had gone from sleep-mussed mess to completely presentable, while Steve hadn't even bothered to shave. Tony was wearing the everyday uniform of t-shirt, blazer, pants, and shoes that cost more money than they were worth. Rhodes was a complete one-eighty, in jeans and a t-shirt that read _Happy Halladays!_

"Morning!" Tony half-shouted when he caught sight of Steve. The smile on his face was real. "Steve, this is my best friend, Colonel James Rhodes. Rhodey, this is—"

"Captain America!"

Steve's heart dropped all the way down to his stomach. Colonel Rhodes was walking toward him, hand outstretched. Steve accepted the handshake as Rhodes continued to smile at him. Tony had an adorably confused expression on his face.

"Captain what, now?"

"Wow." Rhodes turned to look over his shoulder at Tony and said, "I can't believe you snagged this guy."

Tony frowned, then asked, "How do you know Steve?"

"I don't know him," Rhodes clarified, "but he's _Captain America!_"

"That connected zero pieces of information for me."

"He doesn't know?" Rhodey asked, seemingly a bit starstruck. "You didn't tell him?"

Steve grimaced and admitted, "Never thought it would come up." He walked around the bar to stand next to Tony.

Rhodes pointed at Steve and said, "This guy is a legend. He single-handedly saved forty soldiers from terrorists holding them hostage in Austria, of all places."

"I'm going to guess that was in the redacted part of your file," Tony pouted, unhappy he'd been left out of the loop.

"We're talking Medal of Honor-level," Rhodes insisted. "And I can't _believe_ you're dating Tony!"

"_Hey!_"

"You can thank Miss Potts for that," Steve replied. "She thought we'd be a good match and, for what it's worth, I believe she was right."

"Damn." Rhodes shook his head in disbelief, unable to wipe the smile off his face. "As soon as I heard Tony had a boyfriend I had an entire interrogation planned, but you're _Captain America_!"

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Tony asked.

"Because he's been Captain America since, like, 2002."

"He's been Captain Handsome for eight days, and I'm gonna make that one stick."

"I like Tony's better," Steve admitted. He needed a subject change, and fast. Think, Rogers. Think! He looked at Rhodes's t-shirt and asked, "You're from Philly?"

"South side," Rhodes confirmed. "I met Tony at MIT."

"I bet you have loads of stories I want to hear."

"NO!" Tony insisted. "No, no, not allowed. Prohibited. Forbidden."

Rhodes laughed and said, "I have to tell you about the time he set his bed on fire."

"That was an _experiment!_"

"Please," Steve insisted, "I want to hear them all."

"Only if you tell me about how the Howling Commandos managed to overtake a HYDRA tank with nothing but a grenade and a flashlight."

"Done deal," Steve answered.

Which is how he ended up at lunch with Colonel Rhodes somewhere in Chelsea. The place was very quaint and homey, the perfect spot to swap war stories. But the most important part of it all was how Rhodes spoke about Tony. It was how Steve spoke about Sam, how Bucky spoke about Steve, true friendship that comes from years together in the trenches. Steve answered all Rhodes's questions honestly and enthusiastically because all of it felt real. He was having lunch with his boyfriend's best friend.

Just when Steve had told Tony not to get any closer, to fall any further, he tripped head over heels.

**.oOo.**

"Forty men, huh?"

"Thirty-seven," Steve corrected. "Thirty-eight, if you count me rescuing my own dumb ass."

They spent the evening playing Dishonored on the Xbox. Tony spent his time away from the controller tossing bits of popcorn at Steve, while Steve spent his free time fishing the popcorn out of the cushions.

"You thought this didn't merit a mention?"

Steve stared very intently into the popcorn bowl. It was mostly kernels and liquid butter that had begun to harden at the bottom. Tony kept chattering to fill the silence.

"Dating a soldier is one thing, but a war hero is something else. I knew you were out of my league, but what the absolute hell? How did Pepper not know?"

"She knows." Steve took a deep breath and repeated, "Last week when she invited me into the office ... She didn't say it, but she had the look people get when they know."

"When they know what, Steve?" Tony snapped. "What are you keeping from me?"

"I ..." He shrugged. "I'm ashamed."

"Why?!" Tony shouted. "What happened?!"

"My CO had given up on them. There wasn't a way to rescue the soldiers via ground or air, so they just had to 'fall back and regroup.' They said it was impossible, but I couldn't believe that. I wasn't well-versed in terrorist negotiations, but I knew hostage situations didn't usually last long enough for the negotiators to 'regroup.' Those were our men and I don't leave people behind, soldiers or otherwise."

Steve placed the bowl on the floor and laced his fingers together.

"I hitchhiked close to the HYDRA base, then hid myself in the back of an SUV underneath a mountain of stuff. They rolled me right inside. I found the guy with the keys, put him out of commission, freed the soldiers and we hotwired enough cars to get us back to base."

"You snuck inside and snuck back out?"

"Not exactly ... The HYDRA base went into self-destruct mode. Next morning there was hardly anything left. We rolled back into Camp Darby and that was when my life changed. They spun the narrative that I saved thirty-seven men from terrorists, which was technically true, and the story spiraled from there. People insisted I should be awarded the Medal of Honor, which I didn't deserve. You don't give that medal to someone who disobeyed a direct order, no matter how honorable the intentions. Instead, they compromised and made me a captain."

"Ah," Tony realized, "thus, Captain America was born."

"It worked out well for me," Steve admitted. "I led the Howling Commandos unit, which was all I ever wanted. I worked with my best friends and even got to work with my girl."

"I don't understand. Why would you be ashamed of being a hero?"

"I'm not a hero!" Steve half-shouted. "What I did was not heroic, it was stupid."

"It wasn't stupid, Steve. Like you said, you don't leave anyone behind."

"I would've."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to know why I went over there, Tony? Why I risked my career, my _life_ to get those men?"

"I assume Barnes was among the hostages."

Steve nodded.

"I wouldn't have gone if he wasn't. Bucky was ..." He choked off the words and let his face fall into his hands for a moment. "Tony, I can't even begin to tell you. I loved him so much that I didn't want to be a soldier without him. I didn't want to live without him, so I rescued them all. If they'd taken only Bucky, or they'd taken a hundred men plus Bucky, it would not have mattered. I did not disobey the order because it was the right thing to do. I disobeyed the order because Bucky needed me. There's a world of difference and I didn't deserve a damn thing for it. I got him out; I had everything I needed."

Tony was quiet for awhile, staring at the PAUSED screen on the television. Steve wondered what he must be thinking. _Wow, Steve's not a hero at all. Not the sort of man I thought he was. He'll never be able to move on from Barnes._

"Steve, I don't really know what a hero is, but if they exist it means there are two groups of people: those who are heroes and those who aren't. The way I see it, you had two options inside the base. You could have done what most people would do, find Barnes and make a quick getaway. Finish the mission, but that's not what you did. You found Barnes and rescued thirty-six other people. Thirty-six lives that would have ended if it wasn't for you. You didn't walk away when you had every right to. Maybe that's what heroes do; fight for everyone, even when they don't have to."

Steve admitted, "I've never thought of it like that."

"When it comes to self-loathing, I am king of that castle," Tony said as Steve wrapped his arm around Tony's shoulders. "But I learned to see the good in other people. I believe in the future, and if the future is a good place that has to come from somewhere, right?"

"I'm not sure I have the same outlook, but you have awhile to convince me."

"Yeah, well, you suck at video games."

Tony always seemed to do that, change the subject when things hit too close to home.

"I suck at this, but I'll kick your ass at Mario Kart."

They leaned back against the couch and didn't say anything for awhile. Tony snuggled into Steve's side and it felt nice. He could get used to this, to holding Tony, playing video games, threatening anyone who so much as looked at him wrong ...

Tony chuckled.

"You get that look on your face when you're thinking about something you're afraid to be happy about."

"You're not far off."

"Well then, I have a proposal for you."

"I think marriage can wait until the six-month mark, at least" Steve teased.

Tony asked, "How would you want me to do it? Hot air balloon ride? Fly you to Paris and drop to a knee in front of the Eiffel Tower?"

"Do it at a board meeting."

"HAH!" Tony doubled-over in laughter and whacked Steve in the stomach. "Oh, God, that would be amazing."

"What were you going to say?"

"Right, before I was planning our wedding I was wondering if you have plans on Wednesday."

"Therapy in the morning, but nothing after eleven."

"Since I'm making you part of my life," Tony said, "I'd like to understand yours. If you're willing, there is nothing planned for me Tuesday night or Wednesday, and I'd like to see what your life is like."

"You want to hang out with me?" Steve asked. "In Brooklyn?"

"Yes. A day in the life of Steve Rogers."

Steve chuckled, "Prepare to be bored off your ass."

"I doubt I'll be bored. Sometimes slowing down is nice."

"You're only saying that because you finally got more than three hours of sleep."

"I'm serious, Steve, I want to get to know you so that when you're ready to make this a real thing—"

"Tony," he gave him a sad smile, "you've known me for a week. Maybe I could make you happy for awhile, like I know you could make me. What happens when it begins to fall apart? Because you know it would, we fight too much for it not to. It'd end before you are out of probation. We're attracted to each other but we can't make life-altering decisions based on that."

"Yes, you have this line in the sand between us. We're just friends, anything in public is just for show, if we have more it becomes complicated and messy. But a week should be enough for you to understand that my life _is always_ complicated and messy. You said you didn't want to hide anymore, but that is exactly what you're doing. You're hiding yourself away from me, from your feelings toward me, and I am selfish enough to not want you to do that."

"But—"

"You are damning a relationship before it even begins! Maybe you're right and it will fall apart before the year is up. Maybe we are completely incompatible or you get tired of having your photo printed in magazines, but I want to try."

"And—"

"Because I'm—"

"Annoying the hell out of me!" Steve shouted. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Yes, you can spend that time with me. On one condition."

"Which is?"

"You won't pity me when it's over."

Tony frowned.

"Why do you think I would?"

"Because you have," Steve made a vague gesture to the penthouse, "all of this. My life here isn't one I've settled into, let alone one that can compete with this."

"It's not a competition."

"Feels like it is."

"Then I promise not to pity you, which I wouldn't do anyway."

"Great." Steve smiled. "It's a date."


End file.
